Don't Forget My Name
by AvyQuinn
Summary: Could Garrett have made a mistake in assuming that Leto was a servant and not a slave? Not that that mattered. As a guest in the Imperium, it was probably wise for him to remember that he held no voice here. **Teenage Hawke/Leto - Slash**
1. Involuntary Acts of Volition

_A/N: This idea has been picking at my head for a while now. What if things were different, and Hawke actually met Fenris back before he was Fenris - when he was Leto. What would have happened between them? Updates will happen when I manage to get them out and edited - I will apologize now for the time it takes in between._

_That being said, I hope you enjoy!  
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_Warnings for slash (male teenage Hawke/teenage Leto) as well as general perviness on Danarius' part, Hadriana, a little bad language, and teenage hormones. Yay!_

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><p><strong>Don't Forget My Name<strong>

**Day One  
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**o-o  
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Garrett Hawke wasn't sure what to think about that young elven man constantly lingering within arms reach of the pepper-haired Magister.

Danarius called him _Leto_.

The waif was the only servant he addressed directly or by way of name. Leto never left the Magister's side, nor did he let his attention lapse when attending the man. The barest movement of a hand, or a calculated intonation to the man's voice, an accented word spoken... everything was a deliberate sign for his servant to tend to a need. Leto typically seemed indifferent by the requests of his master, almost bored, but other than that, the boy was a model servant. Danarius regarded him with an air of smug pride, almost like the elf was more than just a skinny kid.

Garrett and his father spent the better portion of the afternoon with Danarius in a lavishly comfortable room; having arrived thoroughly exhausted from the road. Garrett felt like the walking dead and, once tucked away on a plush chaise, it didn't take him long to drift off to sleep in the company of the two aging mages.

The trip from Lothering had been long and gruelling. After docking in Cumberland in the territory of Navarra, they travelled by caravan to meet the Imperial Highway just north and followed it all the way up to Minrathous, stopping only to rest during strict, scheduled periods.

Originally, the whole Hawke family was to make the trip, but the twins fell ill two days before their departure and Leandra insisted she stay with them. Thankful for small miracles, he was glad that it was only he and his father making the journey. Garrett squabbled with Carver, Carver picked on Bethany, Bethany was too used to the comforts of home to be on the road long, and Malcolm had little patience with the three of them in small spaces.

Sometimes Leandra was the only sane person in the family.

If anything, Maker willing, the household would be healthy again once they returned home.

During the trip, Garrett asked about the Tevinter Magister they travelled to meet, though the older Hawke didn't have anything glowing to say, mentioning vaguely that the man was not a credit to his name nor to his station in the Imperium. It wasn't enough to sate his curiosity to hear that Danarius was of an unscrupulous nature, living by the completely different moral code as those from Tevinter Imperium often did from the rest of the world.

After asking why his father still held any social ties at all with the old mage, he insisted he would have had nothing to do with the man if it wasn't for the bond they once held as Master and Apprentice; but he admitted to appreciating the contacts he'd garnered from the time spent in Minrathous. Though, once Malcolm had moved his family to Lothering, when Garrett was yet a babe, that bond was severed. He still held good standing within society, but his father hadn't sought fame and fortune through his alliance with the older mage like other apprentices before him. All the young mage sought at the time was knowledge. And when that knowledge began down a dark and dangerous path, Malcolm, the ever-steady and practical type, decided the power to be gained was not worth the price to be paid.

That's really all he ever had to say about it. Always so vague, Malcolm didn't volunteer any information about his past with the man unless prompted. Even then it was on a sort of 'need to know' basis, and obviously Garrett, a non-mage, didn't need to know.

In spite of Malcolm's decision to leave the Imperium, the older Magister claimed to be fond of him and insisted that they come to visit now and again.

It had been over fifteen years, and Malcolm decided he could no longer put off a visit.

The only thing that his father was not vague about was his explanation of the differences between _servants_ and _slaves_. Not particularly familiar with the intricacies of either term, his father was very serious in making sure his son understood the inherent difference.

_Servants have a choice to be there, slaves do not._

After hearing what his father had to say about various topics, Garrett didn't relish the thought of having to stay at Danarius' home for the week that was planned.

Being seventeen and restless; sometimes foolhardy, he often found himself in spots of trouble. Malcolm had warned him about the compound; stick close by and don't wander off, especially at night or into places where it was obvious he shouldn't wander into; the usual. Garrett laughed, but Malcolm was uncharacteristically grave while asking for Garrett to promise he'd be careful. After promising to be 'good', his father gave him a tentative clap on the back to break the tension while Garrett rolled his eyes.

He might have been just seventeen, but he was no child. He could take care of himself.

Once Garrett had woken up from his impromptu nap in the parlour, they had lunch, which Leto alone served.

The elf looked like he rarely saw much time out under the Minrathous sun. He was not a sickly sort of pale, but he was definitely fair; looked cared for. His wrists, narrow and delicate, twisted as he meticulously worked at setting plates and refilling glasses of wine in front of the men dining. The boy was a ghost, working silently, tending to their needs before they were even aware of them themselves.

He, himself, hadn't seen many elves before – they were few and far between in Lothering, but the couple he had seen were typical; or so his father claimed. The straight, sturdy bridge of his nose was but one recognizable feature; another was the small, lithe frame and huge, intelligent eyes. His mother, for example, had discouraged Garrett from having many elven friends. He would never understand why elves were sequestered from the rest of society and why they all couldn't just get along together. After all, he didn't have any quarrel with them... but, even as he knew very little about elves in general, he couldn't help but wonder if their lives might be better in the Imperium. Servitude had to be better than destitution, yes?

Probably tired; the product of an addled brain, he caught himself spacing out, staring blankly at the elf.

Both head and eyes tracking Leto until the servant left the room, he felt a sharp kick in his shin from across the table, causing him to jerk upright in his seat. Silverware falling from his fingers, it clattered noisily on the edge of his dinner plate as the sound of Danarius' voice finally broke through his thoughts.

"Young Hawke."

"Ahem. Magister Danarius?"

"I asked you a question."

A touch of pink tinted Garrett's ruddy cheeks, snatching his fork from the soiled tablecloth. "I'm sorry. My mind was... elsewhere. Would you please repeat the question?"

"I was inquiring whether or not you possessed any magical talent."

"Ah, no. Besides Father, my sister Bethany is the only gifted one in our family."

"Your father mentioned that Bethany is a twin. It is uncommon for twins born to a magical bloodline..."

Eyes drifting back towards the door where the servant had made his silent exit, he re-entered the room just as quietly with another bottle of wine in hand. And again Garrett's attention began to stray from the conversation. He could see Leto gliding behind his Master, retrieving a corkscrew from the far side of a small table, to work the stopper as a thick piece of hair fell stubbornly over his downcast eyes.

Only half-aware as Danarius spoke again, Garrett's gaze stayed on the servant. He'd never seen a more captivating individual. Something about that dark hair and bright eye combination was disturbingly magnetic. _Everything_ about the other boy drew his gaze... almost as if he were under a spell...

"_Surely_ they have elves in Ferelden."

He'd registered the comment somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was left floating there in favour of the smooth movements as the wine was poured; gentle sloshing of the liquid hitting the sides of the goblet the only sound in his ear. Hawke caught Leto in a slight smirk from under his curtain of uneven hair. Feeling a slight smile tug at his own lips, as if a shared joke had passed between them, another kick from under the table wiped it off his face.

Eyebrows raised in surprise and confusion, Garrett quickly realized that he'd been staring _again._ And had been caught this time.

_Shit._

"I.. um..."

Malcolm cut him off before he could bumble anymore, and answered smoothly while the teenager bowed his head, falling wisely silent.

"In Ferelden, most elves are either servants, Dalish or city elves that live in Alienages outside of larger human settlements..."

Garrett didn't dare look up for fear his eyes would surely gravitate to _him_ again. In fact, for the rest of his meal he kept his head tilted towards what was served to him, never deviating from the safe path to his plate.

Thankfully, no one addressed him either.

Sleep deprivation was a more formidable foe than he had originally thought if it was causing him to stare so shamelessly at Leto.

Garrett sighed in frustration.

Why couldn't the Magister's favourite servant have been a thick and busty redheaded _girl_?

With the meal finished, they made their way to another lush parlour, decorated in a more feminine, but still gaudy fashion, where they met with Hadriana, Danarius' apprentice. Garrett had originally intended to try and escape the meeting to go pass out in his room, however, when he saw that the Magister's raven-haired companion was to accompany him, the lad quickly changed his mind.

During the introductions, she was sickeningly sweet and charming, but it was obvious the only ones she didn't charm were young Hawke and Leto. When she swept past the latter, his posture stiffened. And although he never looked directly at her, Garrett noticed she leered openly at him more than once, through intense blue eyes.

Quickly, the mages delved into deep discussion, ignoring the gift-less teenager altogether; something he was thankful for. When people started talking about magic, he usually turned his attention elsewhere or turned his mind off altogether.

Making his way slowly around the room, he examined the layout of the parlour, and some of it's curious artifacts. Having no experience with the local culture, all of the items around the room looked like shiny, gaudy knick-knacks to him.

The most interesting thing were the blue flames that crackled in the stone fireplace, but when he reached out to test their warmth, he found it void of heat. Instead, the release from inside the stone cubby was _cool_, which obviously assisted in keeping the room itself temperature controlled.

Neat tricks they had here.

If Bethany had seen such a thing she'd be filled with questions, but Garrett wasn't interested. He had never needed to make use of magic, and this unnatural conjuration did nothing to impress; in fact, it had just the opposite affect on the boy. He found the blatant display of magic vulgar. He supposed it was what happened here in a place where magic was so freely used.

Even when he was young, his father never relied on magic as an easy way to heal cuts and bruises, or to do chores, or to even help others. Malcolm insisted that unless it was a dire emergency, things would take care of themselves in due time and without the intervention of magics. There was always a cost to weaving magic. That lesson had been hardest for Bethany to learn, and he supposed that was the way it had to be.

Turning away from the stone, he noticed a glint off the glass from tall, floor to ceiling windows peeking out from behind extravagant drapery. Crossing the room with as little attention drawn to himself as possible – lest he be drawn into a discussion he had no real opinion on – he drew back the curtain, cupping a hand to the glass. It had grown dark while they had taken their meal together, and it was hard to see past the glass against the flickering candlelight.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted from his hand, prompting him to move aside. Garrett watched as Leto secured the curtain with a heavy velvet tie, leaning past him and into the window, he deftly unlatched it, pulling one side open, then the other. Once again, his amber eyes halted stubbornly on the form as it withdrew. A warm breeze, heavily scented from the flower gardens outside, wafted between them.

Danarius' obviously favoured servant was too close to him, and the collar of his vestment suddenly too tight. Garrett's tongue swelled in his mouth, finding the one phrase of gratitude his mother taught to him before he could say much else, stuck irritatingly behind it.

The elf didn't broach the silence, nor look him in the eye, though he did offer the caramel haired Ferelden a goblet of drink, which was gratefully accepted; almost like Leto knew he'd need it to soothe his parched throat.

For another moment longer, Garrett watched the agile elf as he went on about his business, sipping casually; thankfully even if he hadn't been able to give thanks aloud. Although, at this point in time, his 'business' was to stand in the corner stone-faced while Hadriana droned on about this and that.

That woman's laugh could have peeled wallpaper from the wall, but his father was _encouraging_ the charlatan in a fashion that made him cringe.

He'd always suspected his father was charming. How else would he have gotten his mother, an educated woman of the highly respected Amells of Kirkwall, to run away with him; a swimming-upstream-the-wrong-way Magister's apprentice? Apparently Malcolm hadn't forgone his wily, charismatic charm... leaving Garrett to wonder if all Magisters and their apprentices were talented actors.

The ostentatious air in the room was suffocating.

At least now there was something else on which he could fixate. Danarius had given them a tour of his grounds when they'd arrived earlier in the afternoon, and Garrett possessed an interest in gardening; something he'd inherited from his mother that he'd never admit to anyone outside of his family. Drawing in deep lungfuls of night air through his nose, the bouquet in the evening was complex and intoxicating. He guessed it was a mixture of many of the different types of flora that flourished here in the arid weather.

Like many firsts this place seemed determined to show him, he'd never smelled anything like it.

In fact, almost all of the flowerbeds and bushes were ones that he'd never seen before and expanded far passed the regular tour route. There were a couple varieties that were familiar; their cooler weather cousins making homes in and around Ferelden, but for the most part they were all beautifully unique to him.

He'd have to take some time for himself tomorrow and have his way with Danarius' garden.

Alone and ridicule free.

Scanning the area one last time, he came to the edge of the window frame, and noticed Leto's reflection in the glass from his rigid stance on the other side of the room.

Yes, indeed. There were many strange and intriguing things here in the Tevinter Imperium.

As if he'd said something aloud, the near-whispered, thick words of his host beside his ear prompted his gut to clench.

"He's _captivating_, isn't he? My Leto."

When had Danarius snuck up on him; gotten so close? Garrett swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry again. He'd even been staring at the elf's reflection!

Did the elf's master know?

Could he read minds?

No. Maker, he _hoped_ not! Malcolm had not warned him of any such magic... though perhaps a little paranoia was healthy.

Trying to look unaffected, but not sure he could be trusted to open his mouth, Garrett turned halfway to the Magister knowing he wouldn't get away with silence.

"H-he's uh, elven, isn't he?" Taking a quick sip of wine to dampen his parched throat, the young man fought down the rising of something foreign in his chest. Whether it was disgust at Danarius' proximity or reaction to the truth being spoken aloud, he couldn't be sure. It was almost like he plucked the word from Garrett's thoughts.

"He is." Danarius almost purred, leaning closer, hot breath puffing over the shell of his ear. "If you like, I will send him to your chambers after you've retired."

Sputtering on that sip, he forced the wine down. Though, it was then that Leto chose to look over at the sudden noise – but thankfully the two chatterboxes paid no mind.

His face, he feared, was most certainly flushed, and once those green eyes locked with his, it only got worse. Leto broke contact casually, barely reacting to the heat on Garrett's cheeks, retreating back to staring at the wall in front of him, awaiting any order from his master.

"Uh.. thank you for your _hospitality_, Magister, but I'm fine." he managed to mumble.

An overly loud cluck of the old man's tongue drew those green eyes again – also this time a flicker of blue from that woman – and Hawke could _hear_ the sick little smile. "Ah. Pity. He's rather good with his hands."

Gritting his teeth, Garrett held his tongue. His father had given him a crash-course of what the differences between Danarius' slaves were in comparison to a regular servant, but Garrett could have cared less then. Now, however, it mattered very much that the 'captivating' elf's master had just offered him up like a side of beef at market. Could Garrett have made a huge mistake in assuming that Leto was a _servant_ and not a _slave_? Not that that made a difference when it came to reality. Not only was he a foreigner, but he was also a nobody with no magical talent to speak of; he wouldn't even be in the Magister's home without his father's influence.

While in the Tevinter Imperium, it was probably wise for him to remember that he was lower than the lowest station.

Danarius practically sashayed away from the young man, much to Garrett's relief, but the heat of embarrassment did not vacate. He would keep his thoughts to himself, but just who did Danarius think he was to offer a person up just like that...?

Clearing his throat inadvertently drew his father's attention.

"Son? Are you well?" Fussed Malcolm good-naturedly, though shooting a serious gaze meant only for his son. "Take that vest off, or you'll die of heat!"

"Yes. Indeed." replied Garrett, voice cracking, only adding to his immense embarrassment.

"Even as a tot he was overdressed!" Turning back to the other adults, he continued. "Always too self-conscious to run around in nappies like the other children his age."

The more his father blathered, the more Danarius and Hadriana laughed, and the more they laughed the more he wanted to hide under one of the expensively dressed tables in the room until the blushing stopped.

Trying to ignore the admittedly harmless teasing, he stripped the quilted leather off, peeking once at the pale elf.

To his surprise, Leto was watching _him._

The realization unwittingly thrilled him, even though he was thoroughly embarrassed and self-conscious, encouraging the heat in his body to linger even longer.

Leaning against the wall by the window, the breeze gifted a slight reprieve from the deeply rooted heat, fluttering the loose cotton blouse blissfully against his damp skin. Closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out the environment and concentrate on the shifting of the fabric, or the sound of the wind gently against his ear, everything was blank behind his lids until Leto again invaded his mind. Fair skin the backdrop to deliciously dark hair and fathomless tourmaline eyes, the expression his mind pasted on the elven's face was one he'd surely not see from the male during his stay. Disturbed that his brain would inject such a sultry image into his mind, his eyes snapped open, only to see the real Leto still watching him in the window's uneven reflection.

Danarius got to his feet, his father rising out of respect, while the harpy rose probably because she was obligated to do so.

"I believe it is time to retire." he announced to the room. Shifting his eyes toward the window he smirked slightly. "Stay and enjoy the view, Garrett, if you please. While you are my guests, my home is your home."

Nodding congenially, Malcolm spoke for them both. "Thank you Danarius. It is good to see you again." Turning toward Hadriana, she offered a pale hand. "And you, my lady..." Accepting the perfectly manicured hand of the contrived apprentice, he raised her knuckles to his lips, though they barely brushed her skin. "Until tomorrow."

Before exiting the room, the greying Magister stopped and whispered into Leto's ear, trailing a withering hand up his slim forearm, causing the elf to glance down almost bashfully at the carpeted floor.

Leto might have been a slave, but as far as Garrett saw, he was the favourite. Not that it was any of his business, and not that he should have cared. But allowing his mind to wander and connect some dots; after witnessing several exchanges – and being part of one such suspicious exchange – it was plausible Leto might have been more than just a favoured attendant. But he couldn't get his father's words out of his head.

_Servants have a choice to be there, slaves do not._

Did that mean Leto...?

"Garrett. Let us retire as well."

"Yes, father."

"Good eve, Serah Hawke." Hadriana drawled, smiling sweetly after the older man; voice drying up as Garrett passed, turning her back before he was even out the door. "Young Hawke."

While passing over the threshold, Garrett stole one last look at the dark haired slave.

Leto kept his eyes hidden behind that curtain of hair, and the rest of his face drawn, but his hands were balled into fists. That small difference was the only real emotion he'd seen from Leto all day, and it left Garrett with a rock in his stomach.

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><p>Once out of earshot, Garrett chose to speak lowly to his father as they made their way to their guest rooms. "Ugh. If I were you, I'd want to wipe my mouth after kissing that woman's hand."<p>

Malcolm chuckled quietly, nodding his head. His father's voice was serious, however. "And if I were you, son, I'd stop staring at that slave."

"I wasn't just imaging that then? I didn't realize he was a slave until..." That heat returned to his face yet again, silently remembering Danarius' _offer_; his mouth opening before he could stop it. "I've just never seen anything like him before, father. There's something about him..." He knew it wasn't just that; he knew that he found the elf more than just a novelty.

He would never admit it to anyone else, but Danarius had been correct when he referred to the other boy as 'captivating'. Those bright, intelligent, _knowing_ eyes, that thick, almost black hair; figure smaller than Garrett's, much more lithe with long, lean muscles. He moved so gracefully, carrying out his duties as though he had wings. The only piece of the puzzle that was missing was that he never spoke.

Through the whole day, Leto had failed to utter a single word and he _still_ had Garrett holding his breath in anticipation.

"And anyway..." Garrett muttered, attempting to rein in his thoughts "You know mother doesn't like us to keep company with elves."

The hallway felt stuffy. Minrathous' climate was hot. If it wasn't hot, then it was warm; usually arid, sometimes humid in the rainy season, but always searing hot. His shirt, dried slightly from the breeze in the salon, was starting to stick to his skin again. Reaching under the hem, he pulled it out repeatedly, catching air underneath it to cool himself.

Looking down, he stopped walking and sighed. "Father. My vest. I left it in the sitting room."

Fatigue was heavy in his feet, and he didn't know if he'd even make it back to the room without falling over.

"A maid is probably cleaning the room already. I'm sure you will see it tomorrow."

Garrett sighed in resignation, nodding. The duo continued their journey down the hall. Step after step, something in the back of his mind nagged him, halting his feet again. Perhaps _someone_ still occupied the gaudy space."I'd rather get it now..." leaning towards his father, his voice turned to a whisper. "...so that it doesn't get any _Hadriana_ on it."

Malcolm laughed a little louder than he should have at that, and shooed his son off down the hall. "Fine. Fine. You know where your room is?"

"Right beside yours?" he called back cheekily.

Making his way back down the dim hall, footsteps strangely light, passing shadowed artwork on the wall, vase stands, plants and doors, he finally saw the brighter light of the room they'd come from. If it wasn't for the relatively short distance he'd gotten before realizing the article was missing, he might have found himself lost for his trouble.

Hadriana's irritating voice caught his ear, coming from the room, sounding a bit strained. Though, he couldn't make out anything she said.

Peeking around the corner into the room, he witnessed the serpentine woman knock a tray of goblets, some fuller than others, from the tray perched on Leto's hand, sending ruby liquid splattering unequally over pricey furniture and carpeting. Even before the cups stopped rolling, Leto dropped to his knees, pulling off his own shirt to sop up what he could of the wine.

Thrusting her hands into his hair, she jerked his head back to hiss in his face, the sharp pain obvious in the squinting of his eyes. However, Leto gave no vocal indication of any discomfort.

Flattening himself against the wall beside the door, Garrett could only eavesdrop guiltily.

"I saw you looking at that Fereldan_ half-wit_." Words he didn't recognize started flowing from her lips; dialect of the Imperium he supposed. He had heard his father speak Arcanum when he was very young, but he didn't remember it sounding so _suggestive._ If that was even the right way to describe it's lilt.

A strained grunt came from inside the room. Garrett could imagine her reefing on his hair, his stubborn refusal to respond fueling her rage.

She clucked her tongue in reproach, still speaking in the old way, softer this time around, charming, but menacing. He squinted his eyes as he listened intently, comprehension finally restored to him as she slipped easily back into the common language. "You forget that _I_ will be your next Master... and unlike Danarius... I will not turn a blind eye while you bat those pretty elven lashes of yours."

Anger flared in his chest. She wasn't being fair! The elf hadn't done anything improper. In fact, if anyone had been acting outside of acceptable social norms, it had been him. Staring blatantly, embarrassing his father, falling asleep in the Magister's parlour... and apparently, according to Hadriana, he was a simpleton. Not to mention anything else she might have said just a moment ago.

_It appears I've made quite the impression..._

The only thing he could do was hope his timely presence might save Leto a little bit of unnecessary ridicule and trouble. Reappearing just over the threshold, he cleared his throat awkwardly, two sets of eyes turning his way, the elf's black strands falling from her slackened grasp.

"Sorry to disturb, but the _half-wit _ forgot his vest in here..." He dare not say more, and even though he _really_ wanted to say something to Hadriana, he already had accepted that while he was in the Imperium, he was a nobody. And a nobody challenging a Magister's apprentice... well, he was sure any outcome would be bad.

In an ridiculous display of pettiness, while holding the Ferelden's amber eyes, she shoved the boy's head to the side with an open palm, pitching him balance to the floor. Then, with a dramatic huff, Hadriana all but physically pushed Hawke out of the way as she departed, extravagant robes and fur and jewels clinking and trailing behind.

With the snake barely out of the room, Leto rose nimbly, not missing a beat while making a bee-line for Garrett's leather garment.

The automatic action of a trained servant – no, a trained _slave_, and how Leto just brushed off such demeaning behaviour directed at him, caused his brown brows to furrow. He wasn't just favoured by one Magister, but two?

Garrett wondered just what had the boy done to procure such... _luck?_

Danarius had been physical with the elf as well, but Hadriana had been violent. It was part of being a slave, Garrett guessed, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what they'd done to him – or would do to him – if he had ever fought back; favourite or not.

Magisters were not to be trifled with; that much he knew.

Bare-chested, the elf's musculature was visible to him now; so very different from his own. Garrett was all bunched muscle and hard planes, taller than most his age; a strapping young fellow. In comparison, Leto was terribly thin, much more slight than the loose fitting linen shirt, once white but now soaked with Agreggio Pavali, let on. His torso was finely crafted, however, obviously fed just enough to keep him in muscle, but nothing extra.

Garrett's voice broke the silence as Leto retrieved the forgotten item; the first thing he'd been able to actually say to the other. "Can I ... help you clean this up?"

At first, Leto seemed genuinely surprised, a thick eyebrow arching ever so slightly before it disappeared and his lips set in a flat line.

"No."

Garrett dumbly took the item when offered, shifting his weight, the coldness of the boy's reply bestowing gooseflesh on his arms despite the heat of the room. "Uh... Of course."

Immediately, Leto went back to sopping up whatever wine he could, and after a telling moment of being properly ignored, Garrett simply nodded, lifting the item slightly in a useless gesture of thanks wondering why he even bothered.

Turning on a heel, he retreated before he could say anything _else_ to unwittingly offend.

It was then he assumed conversation with Leto wouldn't be a defining factor in their encounters.

...But, at least he knew what the elf sounded like now; sort of. The single, absolute syllable had been delivered by a resonant baritone; one he would be hard pressed to banish from his mind in the coming days.

Not only was Garrett's heart throbbing in his chest from the situation and insult – _half-wit was he?_ - and compassion for the young slave, and because of... something nameless – but his mind was spinning, trying to process it all.

Hawke had been confused to start; everything was very different here in Minrathous than back in Lothering. The city was huge, the Magisters were their own keepers, and the Imperial Chantry with it's Tevinter Templars was another beast entirely. Danarius' estate was filled with slaves, some obviously treated better than others. Said master of the house seemed harmless enough, but to Garrett, Hadriana's intentions were more obvious than perhaps she wanted them to be.

With a only vague idea of where he was going, Garrett was glad for the time he had alone with his thoughts. If this first day was any indication, then the rest of the week ought to find him a nervous, frayed mess by the time they set off for home. He could hardly keep everything straight in his head _now_, but convinced that a good night's sleep would make everything simpler somehow, he couldn't wait to get there.

Glancing down at the piece of clothing clutched in his hand, Garrett Hawke knew two things for certain.

He would end up having a lot of stories to recount when they arrived back in Lothering, and second, by the time he left Minrathous, he wanted to count Leto among his rather short list of friends.

...But if Leto hated him, that goal might be impossible.


	2. Dangerous Sanctuary

_A/N: A HUGE thank you to everyone reading, reviewing and following this little runaway yarn in my head._

_Warnings for slash, Hadriana, Danarius, dub-con, tame bloodplay, naughty words, and teenage hormones._

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><p><strong><span>Day Two<span>  
><strong>

**o-o**

Everything about Danarius' estate screamed opulence. From the linens to the textiles on the walls and floors; the silverware, the jewel encrusted goblets, exotic plants and massive amount of servants.

Garrett's guestroom was the size of a small family home back in Lothering, the dining rooms were fitted with long dark stained wooden tables with dozens of chairs, the bathing rooms both spacious and decadent supplied with exotic soaps and fine, fluffy towels.

It was all very _excessive._

A single day with servants and slaves and finery, caused the young Fereldan to long for the simplicities of home.

After a restless first night's sleep, Malcolm had suggested his son go for a 'swim in the tub' – as he used to when Garrett was eight and pretended to be lost at sea while in the claw foot bathtub instead of washing behind his ears. Though, when he discovered that the mansion's 'tub' was actually a decent sized indoor spring of steaming hot water one could swim laps in if they so desired, he was left stunned.

Firstly, before he even entered the main bath area, there was a washing room where he had been instructed by his father to remove his clothing and wash himself. That was how they did it in most residences in Minrathous. Located in a sweltering, almost desert-like locale, the rationing of water was an everyday event.

Malcolm had chuckled at his son when he admitted he worried about running into a naked Danarius – or equally frightening – a naked Hadriana in the baths. Apprehensive, threatening to forgo bathing for the entire week if he ran into either of them, his father put his mind to rest with the information that the Master of the House and any apprentices had private baths, though the rest were open for use by visitors. Since the two Hawkes were the only house guests until the festivities in a couple days time, chances were nil that Garrett would run into anyone else.

True to form, once in the tiled room, he noticed there were several wash stations and prayed to the Maker that no one would walk in on him during his scrub. Making it as thorough as he could for as brief as it was, he covered up hastily with a fluffy towel and headed into the main bath, hungry for some privacy behind the safety of another door.

The place was steamy; thick white fog swirling around his body as he shuffled along slowly, visibility reduced as though he was in a dream. Plants he had never seen the likes of before obscured the walls, growing wildly, but just so. Huge vases were set in the corners of the room, unlit torches jutting from the centre of each. Small, circular windows not covered by vines lined the room, too high to touch. The early morning sun spilled into the bath, reflecting off the mists, so that it glowed in an otherworldly way. The bath itself was square, outlined in dark marble bricks in contrast to the flecked grey and silver marble under his feet.

He could definitely relax in a place like this.

Pulling the towel from around his midsection, he dropped it on the ledge and slipped into the thermal water. Finding a seat carved out of the stone under the water's surface, he sat himself down into it with a grateful sigh, the water calmly rippling at his collarbone.

Tipping his head back, he breathed deeply a few times, letting the moist, warm air fill his lungs and work its relaxing magic through his body.

"Excuse me."

Garrett jolted upright, splashing, the drag of the water fighting against his hasty movements.

"Leto!"

Instinctively, he found his feet and took a couple slow steps backward.

"What-" Garrett's voice cracked slightly from disuse. "What are you doing here?"

Leto's eyes flitted over the other boy's bare torso, steaming water lapping at his navel.

"I've been sent to _tend_ to you."

That was not as helpful of an answer as it could have been, but the larger boy was reluctant to ask for clarification just in case he were to receive it. Garrett had a feeling that after last night's offer from Danarius, Leto's attentions might be the of the variety that could drive a man to blush.

Leto slowly approached the edge of the bath, bright mist swirling around him, a towel draped over one arm, a woven basket handle gripped in the other hand. He was wearing a fresh linen shift which had already begun to soak up the water in the air and cling to his shoulders and upper arms.

"Oh, no. That's okay." Garrett laughed, the air suddenly too thick, choking him.

However, Leto was quiet serious; tone business like and matter-of-fact. "I've been ordered to tend to your needs while in the bath, Serah Hawke."

Garrett coughed, unable to catch his breath. "No, really. It's quite-"

"If I do not carry out my Master's wishes, he will be _displeased_."

_Displeased?_

He didn't want the elf to go through any trouble for him. Not just that, but he found it repugnant that the dirty old Magister once again attempted to seduce him into a situation that he didn't find himself even remotely comfortable with. "But I don't _need _tending to." His growing frustration about the old man's strange advances got the better of him, the last part of his thought coming out rather snippy. "Can't you just tell Danarius that you did and we'll call it even?"

Leto stood there for another moment, his even expression a bit creased by something Garrett couldn't identify, before he turned away, toward the entryway.

Releasing a shaky breath, Garrett felt a pang of guilt while watching the retreating figure.

What was he even doing? He wanted to get to know the young elven man better; wanted to eventually call him a friend, and yet he was willing to chase him off just because he was doing what he was told? More than that, he didn't actually want to get Leto in hot water with the Magister, because if he left now...

"Hey. Wait a second."

Mist twisting in the air as Leto turned back around, eyes landing on his sweat-beaded face, Garrett found himself feeling rather transparent. He wasn't sure how the young man did it, maybe it was the slight squint in his eye, tilted head or the lowered chin, but the elf's knowing stare shot a shiver up his spine. Garrett tried to casually take refuge in the cloudy water, realizing his entire torso was exposed.

"Uh.. Why don't you hang around for a little bit? I know Danarius told you to... do whatever it is you do, but if you go back now, he might know something's up."

The elf nodded reluctantly, seeming to find that a more suitable arrangement.

Garrett smiled in spite of himself and took a seat on the other side of the pool, water modestly level with his collarbone. Silence hung heavily in the room; Leto still staring at him. He supposed it was what he deserved after shamelessly staring him down the other day.

He wouldn't be able to take the silence very long. He had to break the ice.

"So, uh. How long have you been a ...uh..."

"Slave?" Leto supplied, his expression frozen like he had said something without such a negative connotation.

Garrett wanted to hide his head in his hands. There had to be something _else _he could discuss with the other young man. Throughout his life, Garrett had never been tactful, nor particularly charming, nor able to avoid the elephant in the room. As soon as the word was uttered, Hawke regretted not breaking the ice with a joke. Though, what would he joke about with an elf? And a slave at that.

"Uh, well, yeah, I mean been here. With Danarius."

"Ten years."

Hawke had to bite back a cringe. He was actually glad for the mist that settled in around his face; concealing disapproving brows. "So, that would make you... how old?"

"Nineteen."

The younger, but much bigger male was taken aback by the fact that the elf was a couple years his elder. Comparing the two, no one would have guessed that the pale slave wasn't just a boy like Garrett himself.

An entire decade as a slave.

Garrett couldn't even imagine such a concept. There were so many things he'd done as he approached manhood; learned things he could only have learned from his father, made mistakes that could only be made at the impressionable, and forgivable age he was. Most importantly, his father teaching him how to be a man, and not _just_ a man, but a _good_ man.

Leto, unlike himself, had spent those formative years as Magisterial chattel.

Surely it couldn't have been _all_ bad? Even if he hadn't a choice to be a slave?

He'd asked Leto two questions thus far, but he had dozens, maybe a hundred more swimming around his curious mind. He couldn't have been more nervous if he tried, but Leto's one word answers were _killing_ him. And as the conversation lulled, his hands fidgeted underneath the surface of the water.

"Is your father a blood mage?"

"What?" Garrett almost gasped, meeting Leto's gaze, those words like a blade in his ear. He might not have been a mage, but he was fully aware of blood mages and what kind of a stain they were to the honour of all mages. He knew that Danarius was a blood mage; that everyone who was anyone in the Tevinter Imperium was. But his father? "No! Never!"

Leto cocked his head to the side. "So it is true."

"What's true?"

"That your father is the only apprentice ever to escape Danarius' grasp."

"Uhm..." Garrett hummed dumbly.

Rather embarrassed that he wasn't privy to the actual reasons why his father hadfled the Imperium all those years ago, Garrett had never heard this particular bit of the story. If he'd been more astute to piece the bits of information together that his father _had_ offered, he might have figured it out on his own. However, pieces were few and far between; not something the family normally discussed over dinner – or at all.

Not to mention that at that moment, he had barely the mind to even keep a handle on his primary functions.

Aside from all that, it seemed that Leto was, at least somewhat, versed in the history not offered to the eldest Hawke child.

"Malcolm Hawke, your father, refused Danarius' offerings of blood magic and left Mirathous."

"Blood magic?"

Leto only nodded.

"I did not know why he left, only that he did and that I was a very little boy. But you said that he 'escaped'. Why would you say that?"

"I do not know of the accord your father held with my Master..." The elf's rich voice slipped into a low rumble, the sound alone prickling Garrett's skin. "Few are able to resist the temptation of blood magic, but those who attempt to are... _encouraged_ to comply."

"Oh." As vague an answer as that was, Garrett caught the implication in Leto's tone.

"What about your sister?"

"Bethany? No, of course not. None of our family has used blood magic." Garrett was already proud of his family name, but with this new piece of the Hawke family puzzle unearthed, it made him even more so. "Father taught us that magic is not to be used frivolously, taken lightly, or used to hurt others."

Still on his feet, Leto's posture relaxed slightly, the inflection of his words softer after hearing what Garrett had to say. "I would have it all mages were like your father, Serah."

Garrett nodded thoughtfully, not sure what to add to the conversation before it dissipated into the mist. And soon it was awkward again. Bowing his head, he peeked at Leto from underneath the haphazard locks of hair on his forehead. Had it gotten quieter in the room or was it just him?

"Leto."

He surprised himself with how the elf's name rolled pleasantly off his tongue.

"Yes?"

"You can sit. Uh, I mean -" Garrett found himself beginning to second guess what he said to Leto, and it was beyond frustrating. At all costs, he did not want to offend him or destroy the delicate footing of friendship he felt they were on by saying something thoughtless or insensitive. "Please," he invited with an open palm "sit, if you want to." Leto hovering like that was a bit unnerving, and he needed to retain as much nerve as he could get around the slave.

It felt painfully obvious how flustered he was while they conversed, but in spite of his own feelings of inadequacy, he thought he saw a flash of a smile from the young elf.

He thought about the day before and how absorbed he was in watching the handsome creature do the littlest thing. Then when he poured wine, and that smile came. Now when he thought back on it, and the fact that there was nothing on his brain but the elf, that smile might have been the culmination of his rather childish behaviour; most likely at his expense. But, in spite of that, that small grin had made him happy, no matter what it meant.

More than that, it made him greedy to see more of that smile.

Not moving to utilize one of the low lacquered stools, Leto lowered himself to his knees where he stood, setting the basket down to fold the towel evenly and lay it on top. Sitting back on his heels, hands empty, long fingers curled loosely on his knees.

Silence crept over the room again, more palpable this time, but also more comfortable; at least for Garrett.

Leto, however, looked a bit uneasy.

"You've expressed that my services are undesired. However, I admit, that I am more at ease while performing a task."

"Oh." Awkward again. "What ...would you do?"

"Anything you need."

That baritone voice picked at the edge of his brain, burrowing its way into a warm, deep corner.

And Garrett found himself short of breath again. "I'm open to suggestions..."

Leto rose effortlessly, taking up the basket, stepping silently, almost prowling in the way he moved toward where Garrett was seated in the spring. Keeping his backside glued to the smoothly carved seat, he didn't dare move now; far too curious, and more than a little tense as the elf closed the distance.

Once Leto disappeared from his peripheral vision, his posture straightened, unconsciously puffing his chest out, squeezing his knees with tight fingers under the water. There was no sound, no indication what Leto might have been up to behind him until a warm, damp palm slipped into the unruly hair at the base of his neck, forcing his heart to surge into his throat.

Unable to breathe, he watched the elf's fingertips disappear under the prickly day old growth on his chin, easing his head back into the the elf's supportive hand.

Without preamble, Leto drew water from the bath into his cupped palm, releasing it into Garrett's thick, straight hairline. Eyes fluttered shut, heart thrumming in his ears, acutely aware of the contact with the elf, warm liquid rushing over his skin and scalp... down his neck, Leto repeated the easy action until Hawke's hair was completely saturated. For long minutes, Garrett whispered a mantra in his head, hoping that the pounding in his ears could not be heard over the quick, then slow drip of the water as it ran over his head and returned to the pool.

Leto had been cradling his head for a long time, and Garrett, concerned his big, heavy, human head would tire Leto's arm out, was relieved when the elf tipped it back upright, but lamented the loss of the other's touch.

The sound of a stopper loosened and a pleasant, woody fragrance were precursor to the return of thin, patient fingers working some unknown serum through his tresses into a thick lather. Maddeningly slowly and more than thoroughly, Leto cleansed the coarse strands, scratching short nails over Garrett's roots and skin. His once tense spine rounded as he melted under the pleasurable strokes and sweeps of Leto's meticulous attention.

Trying to keep his head from bobbing forward was becoming more difficult as his bones turned to jelly.

Not to mention it was damn near impossible to keep his mouth shut.

Everywhere those clever hands slid left a tingling trail, and even though he had been able to contain the embarrassing sounds welling up in his throat, he couldn't suppress a telling shiver.

And he thought he caught the sound of an almost inaudible chuckle from behind him.

Before he had a chance to even think about the implication of that sound, wild pieces of his hair somehow wrapped themselves around Leto's hard working fingers, tugging slightly, adding to the complex feeling flushing over his body.

It was amazing how quickly the feeling of relaxation progressed into something more arousing.

A thick, cloud-like drop of lather landed on his shoulder, slipping its way down his clavicle. Halting ministrations in his hair, Leto dipped his hand into the water to wash away the glob, ghosting fine elven fingertips against Garrett's oversensitive skin.

The touch on his shoulder surprised him, but he attempted to downplay the reaction with a casual shift in his seat. Convinced that the Maker had it in for him, Garrett felt the delicious drag of water move against his quickly burgeoning erection, making the situation infinitely worse.

Snapping his eyes open, he drew a ragged breath, attempting to mask it in a cough, arousal close to the surface threatening to reveal itself. Intending to talk about the first unsexy thing that came to mind in a desperate effort to control himself, he opened his mouth.

His voice might have been weakened to the point of a murmur, but the room was so quiet, it hardly mattered.

He needed a save from his body's treachery.

"M-my father is considered an apostate back in Ferelden."

"An _apostate_?" Inquired Leto casually and just as quietly, those wicked hands rubbing over the skin behind his ears, and the side of his neck, never straying too far from the hairline.

"That's what the Chantry calls those who have escaped the Circle of Magi, or those who refuse to go to the Circle. In Ferelden, if a child is born with magical talent, then it's taken to the Circle while it's still very young." Garrett swallowed thickly before he continued, knowing that soon the topic of conversation would no longer matter if those hands didn't stop touching. "To the Chantry, there is no room for chance. As you said, the temptation to turn to blood magic for power is strong."

"It is." Leto confirmed again in a whisper, and finally the distracting caresses stopped; that palm slipping into a familiar position at the back of his head. Garrett tipped his head back co-cooperatively, but kept his eyes closed as Leto scooped more water into his palm, rinsing out the scented suds, carding his long fingers through loose tangles.

Dark behind his lids, he had no choice but to concentrate on the practiced motions sweeping over the crown of his head. Each stroke worked at his composure.

He tried not to think about it; he really really did; tried to ignore it... but the water made his member feel deliciously weightless, and in its freedom to swell unencumbered, Garrett thought he'd never been harder.

And it was all thanks to _him..._

He sighed...

"_Maker _that feels good."

...And clamped his mouth shut when he realized he had unwittingly spoken aloud and in an embarrassingly moan-like manner.

Keeping his eyelids smashed together, Garrett suddenly wished the Maker would reach down and smite him where he sat.

Though, he had needed no attention while in the bath, Leto had taken it upon himself to attend to Garrett in such a fashion. Was it uncouth of him to take such enjoyment from the efforts of a slave? He felt guilty about it now, like he had done something wrong, or taken something that wasn't his.

It was also a bit dubious that he had grown so hard under the touch of another man, but he'd have to think more on that point later.

Much later.

Perhaps after he'd completely killed his desire by thinking about darkspawn or about that time he walked in on his mother and father in a very compromising situation with a mage staff...

All he could do now, however, was hope that Leto hadn't heard the thick undertone in his voice – which came straight from his cock – and simply taken it for extreme relaxation, instead of what it really was, all without a look of disgust on his face.

_Doubtful._

Summoning a sliver of courage, he peeked at Leto's face. Much to Garrett's surprise, a rather peaceful look had taken over the attendant's features. Hovering above him, there was no denying the hint of a satisfied smile as Leto concentrated on rinsing.

Just a hint – a wrinkle really – turned up corners of his moist, plump lips...

So... _captivating_...

No, no. Not _that_ word...

Garrett wanted to move closer to his mouth. To _touch._..

"Slave!"

Jerking himself upright in guilty shock at the screech, hands that found themselves inching towards the elf's face just a breath ago slammed down on the surface of the water, sending droplets into the already saturated air.

Having destroyed the atmosphere, Hadriana stood smugly regarding the two young men.

_At least now I don't have to think about darkspawn._

"The Magister commands your presence in his chambers."

Glancing back towards where Leto was settled behind him, he found the elf already on his feet, basket handle back in his hand, knuckles white. Hunched over, his posture tight, he stalked towards the brunette.

Despite what she had just said, Hadriana refused to let Leto leave and instead ran a long nailed fingertip over his pointed ear, speaking in Arcanum, the whole time holding Garrett's gaze.

Again, Leto said nothing... but neither did Garrett.

Moving aside, leaving barely enough space for the skinny elf to pass, she grinned knowingly; connivingly, just for Garrett's benefit, then took her leave.

That dangerous gleam in her eye couldn't have meant anything good.

Nothing good at all.

He had to remind himself that even though Leto had to put up with Hadriana and her instability, he probably had been doing so for years. Still, he hated how she seemed to bully him. That's all he could call it. And again it pissed him off that he couldn't speak the local lingo! Just what in Thedas was she saying while she grinned at him like that?

Garrett exhaled a long, therapeutic breath.

What the hell was wrong with this place?

Leaning back against the side of the pool, still seated in the groove, he stretched his arms out along the edge. His elbow bumped against something, a quiet tinkle of glass meeting the marbled floor, making him turn to inspect what he'd just knocked over. Picking up the small cylindrical phial between his fingers, it had a cork piece stuck in its short neck and housed a thick concoction. Pulling the stopper, he sniffed at the open hole and realized it was the woodsy smelling stuff Leto had used to wash his hair.

Closing his hand around it, he smiled to himself.

* * *

><p>Once dried off, dressed and sufficiently calmed down – which took some real effort, especially since he decided to keep his hands off himself – Garrett decided he needed some time alone.<p>

On the desk in his room, he found a note from his father explaining he would be in with Danarius until nightfall – when they, once again, would take their meal together.

He could have stayed in his room, but they day had turned out so nicely that it would be a waste. He wasn't much of an indoor type anyway. The gardens and their solitude were tempting, and while he was out there, he could sate his curiosity about the floral scents, and consider the strange things happening around him.

He had some feelings that needed sorting out.

Almost all of them having to do with Danarius' lithe little elf.

It seemed so inherently _wrong_ to think of him as being _property_.

He wondered how it was Leto found himself in the Magister's service. Perhaps he was born into servitude, or maybe, _Maker forbid_, sold into it. Garrett cringed when he thought about cute little Leto being caught and carted around from place to place by slavers.

Apparently morbidly fascinated by the very concept of slavery, Garrett knew it all had to do with Leto. Servants had a choice to be a servant, but slaves had no such choice. This he knew in theory, but what did that all actually mean? What was the real difference between the two? Other people in Danarius' employ had various tasks to carry out, some of them less pleasant than others, but what made Leto's role come with such a negative connotation?

He wondered so many things; had so many questions.

He even wondered if any of them would ever be answered.

The sun beat down on the top of his head as Garrett walked out into the courtyard, bound for the twisted paths of Danarius' beautifully maintained oasis on the outskirts of Minrathous. It was early in the afternoon when the sun was at its peak in the sky, searing, blinding. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he scanned the lush green horizon of trees dotted with a veritable rainbow of colours; both flowers and fruits.

The scenery seemed to go on forever, the main red brick path running symmetrically as far as the eye could see.

Keeping to the obvious planned route through the gardens, Garrett found it hard to keep his mind on the unique beauty surrounding him. A flirt of colour was more than enough to initially catch his interest, but as thoughts began to eat at his attention, he caught himself lingering in a single place.

What had Leto's life been like in the past?

Part of that he already knew – Danarius' slave at the tender age of nine. Garrett wondered where his mother and father were and if he had any other family. Honestly, his family may have all been living there at the mansion for all he knew. The Fereldan had precious little time with Leto, and even less time in which to carry a conversation. This morning they'd been able to exchange some basic information about each other, but it didn't serve to sate much curiosity.

Since Garrett knew one important fact about the elf, he figured a more appropriate question was what was Leto's life like now?

How did Danarius treat him behind closed doors?

What was Hadriana's problem? It was obvious that she enjoyed harassing the elf, but due to his deficiency when it came to Arcanum, he suspected he was missing a lot.

Was Leto miserable? He didn't _look_ miserable.

Pale? Yes.

Underfed? Maybe.

Overworked? Definitely.

But even though he didn't look miserable, Leto didn't look happy either...

And then there was the undeniable fact that some part of him was _attracted_ to Leto. The staring, the gooseflesh, the boneless moaning...

Garrett planted his face in his palms.

_The moaning. Maker help me._

Feelings of attraction would only complicate their friendship... and probably everything else.

He'd been attracted to girls in his classes back in Lothering and they all got along just fine. Would it be so different with Leto?

Of course he hadn't gone around confessing to them in their turn or anything, being the shy guy he was. He'd actually managed to be friendly with more than one of them, and telling them how he felt would have just ruined a good thing, so he never did.

Garrett Hawke may have had crushes before, but none of them had ever been like _this_.

The way Garrett felt when he was around the older boy was nothing like being around a girl. Garrett was nervous around Leto – most times embarrassingly so – but he also held genuine feelings of friendship toward him. Not that he didn't when he was around a girl he liked, but ... it was _different._

That's all he could really say.

It was _complicated_.

In spite of that, he would endeavour to become Leto's friend.

Moving along down the bricked pathway, he hoped it would eventually loop back around to the mansion. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking the gardens thinking about things he couldn't hope to change; the sun already having moved a fingerbreadth or two in the sky.

That's when he saw something.

A branch off the main path.

It looked like it had seen light use, but the slightly tamped down earth indicated someone had tread it recently. For some reason, perhaps his healthy paranoia, Garrett looked around him before ducking under the heavy foliage concealing the path behind it.

"_This_ wasn't included in the tour..." Garrett muttered with a smirk. This path, in the Magister's backyard, even though it looked purposefully hidden, couldn't have been _anything_ that would lead to trouble, he considered cheekily.

Perhaps the Magister himself that might lead to trouble, but he wasn't there at the moment.

He'd just go and take a look.

No harm, no foul.

A few steps into the brush, the path wasn't as clear as it had appeared to be, and soon Garrett had to start parting thin, whip-like branches to even take another step forward. Releasing a group to push the next out of the way, one sassy little branch slapped him in the face, leaving behind a hot little sting over his cheek.

With a grunt, he continued to propel himself through the mess, hands in front of him feeling around until he groped air. Emerging from the wicked 'trail', he stopped.

And blinked.

This was not what he expected.

A little piece of empyrean bliss.

A small clearing, completely closed in by thick leaved trees, in the middle a worn gazebo, its strong, metal supports stood straight and proud, curls of manipulated iron worked patterns served as half walls. The domed roof of the structure looked to be made of tinted glass, more intricate patterns of scrolled metal threaded throughout. Surrounding it was a wild, untouched thicket with intense green grasses and bright wildflowers woven in and between.

Carefully wading his way through the knee high pasture, he approached slowly, eyes trained on something that seemed to be suspended form the centre of the roof by heavy chains.

Closer, Garrett noticed that rust had bloomed on several spots around the supports, lending to the feeling that time had forgotten it was here. It seemed strange that such a place existed on these grounds considering how well tended they were and how wealthy the Magister was. Although, this was off the beaten path. Perhaps someone _did_ forget about it.

He hadn't noticed earlier, probably because of the grass, but the gazebo was actually raised off the ground, its iron frame resting on a hexagonal dark marble frame, matching side for side, stairs encircling it. Taking two stairs at once, three quick strides brought him up to the entryway.

What he had seen suspended from the centre of the pavilion was a circular hanging platform. The chains it was suspended from, around its edges, met at one point in the half circle roof. Strewn across it's face were pillows and furs.

Garrett guessed he was correct when he noticed the light use of the trail, because the arrangement of the furs suggested someone had occupied this strange little bed not long ago; not too recent, maybe within the last couple days. Leaning forward, he slid his hand into the furs. They were cool to the touch which was strange considering how hot the day was.

Looking around the rest of the space, he saw no chairs or benches and no belongings save for the expensive furs and cushions. Above him, the dark glass and iron patterns provided shade from the blazing sun.

Sitting gingerly on the edge of the suspended bed, it tipped under his weight, almost dropping him unceremoniously on his ass. Pulling himself to his feet rather awkwardly, not expecting it to move like that, he snorted in laughter as it swung daringly back and forth. It might take some practice before he'd ever have a hope of mounting such a contraption, but he was game. Pushing the bunched up mass of dressings back around the sleeping area, he decided to give it another try.

This time he crawled onto the face of it, trying to keep his weight distributed, tipping only once, but managing to stay upright. Once seated in the centre, he grinned victoriously. Taking a moment to look around from this vantage point, he pressed his palms into the padded mattress underneath the throws, downright feathery under his backside.

He also found he quite liked the feeling of weightlessness.

Perhaps it was the heat, or his lack of sleep, or the way the bed swayed slowly as he moved, but as he laid back, a hand tucked under his head, caressing himself in much the same manner as Leto had earlier, Garrett's eyes grew heavy.

The feeling wasn't nearly the same, but behind his closed lids, he could tell himself it was Leto.

The delicate, woody scent that lingered in his hair wafted under his nose pleasantly as he drifted off.

* * *

><p>Waking some time later, Garrett blinked blearily, and yawned, almost forgetting where he was. Above, he could no longer see the sun's blazing brightness from where he lay. In a bit of shock, he sat upright, scanning the treeline. If he was any judge of time, he would guess he'd slept the better portion of the afternoon away.<p>

Taking a moment to stretch, he reflected he couldn't have thought of a more pleasant way to spend the day.

Well, there was _one_ other way... but he wasn't about to get caught up in _that_ state of mind again.

Crawling, carefully, out of the overly comfortable hanging bed, he peeled off his shirt and shook it to air it out. It was helpful that he'd worn a light cotton blouse, but the fact that he ran hot when he slept made his clothing stick to his form.

With a great sigh, and one last stretch, he felt totally refreshed and began to make his way back toward the mansion.

He needed to get back before his father found him gone.

From the clearing, he couldn't see the mansion, though he had an idea of which way to go, even if he couldn't exactly remember where he'd emerged from the brush from. Slinging his shirt over his shoulder, he started off toward civilization; even though he didn't much feel like going back.

Turning to look at the haven he'd run across, he couldn't help but wonder who had found it first.

There was no way to know, but one thing was for certain: He'd be back.

Successfully avoiding any further sassy branches, he cleared the sweltering undergrowth without any mishaps.

Much to his dismay, however, Garrett did not end up where he had intended. He barely recalled the walk that had taken him this far out, thoughts of a certain elf filling up his brain instead of allowing him to mind his surroundings. There was a brick path beneath his feet – which meant he wasn't _lost_ per se – but he also didn't recognize any of the shapes of the shrubbery.

Taking a second to breathe in deeply, savouring the scent – something he hadn't taken time to do yet – he strolled, rays pleasantly hot against his back.

As expected, it wasn't long before the giant, looming home of the Magister came into view. A grumble in his gut prompted Garrett to pick up the pace. Dusk would be falling upon the garden very shortly, and that would mean dinner would be on the table soon as well.

Garrett Hawke was a lot of things, but he was_ never_ late for dinner.

Rubbing his eye free of a rogue grain of sleep with a fist, his ear caught some rustling nearby; adventure about the only thing that could distract the boy from his appetite.

Taking a detour on a deviant portion of the main path, still bricked, he turned the corner around a squared off bush to see a frame standing at the end of the greenery lined passage.

Silent footfalls brought him ever closer, until he emerged onto the edge of a circular clearing, not unlike the one he fell asleep in, although in place of the gazebo, a mass of heavily scented flowers sprung forth in a veritable fountain of blossoms.

"Leto!" Garrett waved at the elf with a smile.

Leto glanced toward the sound of his name, staring, green eyes shocked for a moment, and turned his head quickly away. "Serah Hawke."

The odd glance hinted something was wrong with his sudden appearance.

Wondering why his higher brain functions always went out the window when he was in close proximity of Leto, Garrett awkwardly pulled his top over his head to cover his casual nudity. "I didn't expect to find you out here."

Watching the elf work at snipping long stems of white flowers and tucking them away into the shallow basket hanging from his forearm, Garrett's eyes lingered on those deft hands of his.

"Uh." He ran a hand sheepishly through his soft, sleep-tousled hair. "Thanks for this morning. You didn't have to do that."

For a moment, Leto paused in his search for the perfect stems to sever, his dark head bowing ever so slightly. "You are ... welcome." But he didn't look at Garrett, hands continuing to work their task.

Garrett could have – perhaps even should have – left it there and gone about his business, but he was much too stubborn to do that. He wanted Leto's company any way he could get it. He was solely dedicated to getting Leto to come out of his shell.

"Do you have time for a walk around? Maybe you could tell me more about these plants?"

Finally the elf took the time to turn around and talk to Garrett face to face. If the taller boy hadn't been so eager to see those handsome green eyes, he would have missed the quick flick of eyelashes as Leto looked at the mansion behind him.

"I do not." He replied simply, sounding a little irritated.

Laying the small set of hand shears into the basket brimming with freshly cut stems, Leto bowed his head, that subservient curve in his spine returning as he made for the main path to the mansion.

Garrett, once again, met a wall with his new friend; a cold, quiet wall that he had no idea how to penetrate.

"Leto!"

In the shadow of the hedges, he stopped as his name was called half desperately.

Garrett was at a loss. He thought they had some sort of friendly rapport after what had happened earlier, but perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps Garrett was nothing but another person to tend to, adding to the no doubt long list of 'duties' he had as a slave. For some crazy reason he wanted to befriend the older boy, but he wasn't making it easy. Leto had been hot and cold in their interactions, each time leaving Hawke with nothing but questions.

"Do you dislike me?"

Something passed over the elf's shadowed face, forcing his brows to furrow. "No."

_That's a start..._

Garrett shrugged, his posture utterly non-threatening. "I'd just like to be your friend, Leto."

"Slaves do not have time for _friends_, Serah Hawke."

It seemed the elf wanted nothing more than to be free of the line of conversation in the way he turned away again, but Garrett didn't want to let it go. Leto _had_ to give him something to work with eventually.

"Does Danarius not grant you time for yourself?"

"I do not _wish_ for time for myself." Leto half hissed, half muttered, leaving Garrett to strain to hear the words.

Then he disappeared down the end of the pathway, while Garrett stood stunned – and a little hurt if he was being honest.

What had Leto meant by that?

Frustratedly approaching the blooms Leto had been so discriminatingly picking, Garrett stroked a slightly open bud until his anger dissipated, the waxy petals refusing to give way under his firm finger. Finally deciding to pluck it from it's stem, he rolled it around on his outstretched palm.

Maybe one day he'd figure out something to say that _wouldn't_ anger Leto.

He shrugged and hid the flower away in the soft leather fold at the top of his boot.

...Or he wouldn't.

But he wouldn't give up.

* * *

><p>Sleep did not claim him that night.<p>

His mind refused to shut down to grant him a reprieve from the events of the day. It had been a bit of a roller coaster with Leto sending mixed messages at every junction. The only thing Garrett had managed to figure out about the elf was that he was easily angered. Although, he seemed visibly less tense after their chat about the Hawke family's magical habits. Considering where they were, he wasn't sure why it was so important whether or not his family actually practiced blood magic.

Somehow he wasn't surprised about seeing yet another complicated facet to the elf. But Garrett wouldn't be discouraged.

Maybe he was thinking about things the wrong way.

Maybe the closer Leto was to magic, the more it disagreed with him. Not many in the Imperium would have said what Leto had said about his father when it came to magic; even going so far as to commend the Hawke patriarch. But the most interesting part of the conversation had been Leto's apparent disdain for blood magic.

Garrett could still feel those clever fingers sweeping trails over his scalp. He shuddered. If that's what a slave did, it didn't seem that bad...

But then there was Hadriana. He didn't think she was above using her magic in a torturous way to hound any servant or slave in the mansion if that's what tickled her fancy. It wasn't fair for her to zero in on Leto, and if there was one thing Garrett wanted to put a stop to, it was that. He might not have known the details of their relationship, but he knew when someone was being abused. It made him so frustrated when he thought about how little he could do.

Rolling over for the umpteenth time in the large, combed cotton dressed bed, Garrett was glad he at least got some quality sleep earlier on in the afternoon at that forgotten gazebo. He'd go there tomorrow as well and take a book this time. It was a nice getaway from the repressive air of the stodgy mansion.

Running a hand thoughtfully through his hair, he wondered if Leto knew of that perfect little spot in Danarius' immaculate gardens. _Someone_ had been there, after all. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but the abandoned sanctuary would be a good spot to discuss things in a more _private_ setting.

_Leto._

Why was that damn guy on his mind so much?

Garrett wasn't sure if he was a masochist or just stupid; addicted to the stinging confusion the elf battered him with. But thoughts of reciprocating those gentle touches Leto gifted him earlier were slowly consuming his good judgement and healthy state of mind. Insomnia wasn't helping either.

It was completely unbelievable that he'd known the other boy for just over a day and already felt his absence so strongly.

"Leto..."

Maker, what a strange friendship he desired.

If only Leto would let him get close enough...

Garrett ran his tongue over cracked lips.

_...Then what?_

He thought he knew what he wanted, but that was before his mind started mass producing images of Leto; before his brain stored every syllable the other boy had ever uttered in that strange baritone of his; and way before he'd gone weak under those trained hands.

_I just want to be his friend. That's all I want._

_... Right?_

Muffling a pent up yell, Garrett pressed his face deep into his pillow, pulling the sides over his ears.

To top it off, as if dictated by the last time they'd interacted, he'd been completely ignored by Danarius' favourite slave all night. Of course Leto served him as was his obligation, but he wasn't even afforded a glance from those stunning elven eyes. So Garrett just sat there listlessly picking at his food while the the two mages conversed more about magic.

Didn't his father ever get tired of talking about magic? Theory and practice and texts and tomes...

All of it, magic, temptation, confusion, the ridiculous air everyone put on, set his temper to smouldering deep in his belly.

For the first time in his life, since arriving at the compound, he found how little he understood about _everything; _how little he understood about himself.

The Maker must have been on his side in some small way, because Hadriana never took supper with the men. He didn't think he could keep his food down when she started in on her sickeningly sweet commentary or leering looks. As juvenile as it was, he just _knew _he would have ended up flinging a spoonful of vegetables at her.

He snorted. That would have been hilarious. She probably would have turned him into a toad or something in retaliation, but he thought it would be worth seeing a rogue vegetable stuck to her forehead and the scowl on her face.

The chuckling died off, and Garrett sat up, still completely sober; not even sleepy.

Sliding out of bed, he checked out the window, seeking the moon and any notion of what time of night it may have been. It was high enough in the sky to be past midnight, but it couldn't have been more than that, even though it felt like he'd departed the dining table for his chambers half a lifetime ago.

Climbing into his breeches and throwing his shift over his head, he opted-out of his boots. Too much noise. Padding around in bare feet would afford him a much extended chance for freedom and more opportunity at exploration.

There was still so much of the mansion he'd not seen yet, and what better time to do it. No servants running around, no maids, no slaves. Maybe the odd guard to worry about, but they'd have to catch him first.

Slipping out the heavy doorway with a naughty grin, he tiptoed past his father's adjoining suite. He'd sneaked past his parent's room quite a few times when he had an earlier curfew, and old habits seemed to die hard.

Danarius' mansion might have looked huge from the outside, but the clutter of magical artifacts and pieces of art, plants, decorations, all manner of _junk_ – in Garrett's opinion – lined each room and each corridor. Of course it was all neatly lined and placed, but none of it meant anything to him.

He'd peeked in every unlocked room on the floor, which was a bit of a risky thing to do considering he had no idea what might have been going on inside, but he'd listened for a moment outside of each to make certain he wasn't interrupting anything. Each room had been dark, unoccupied and to his snooping eye, nothing special.

The only thing he had remembered as a sort of landmark was a garish statue Danarius had described as an old Tevinter God. It seemed as though Tevinter worshipped a pantheon of Gods many years ago – some still did – and although there were similar looking relics dotted about the floor, this particular one stood outside of Danarius' parlour. The manor only had two levels, and after walking for Andraste knew how long, he stumbled across it.

At least now things might get interesting. There _had _to be something intriguing and naughty or at least blood-magey in the man's receiving room.

Pressing his ear against the door, Garrett closed his eyes, tuning his ears to the quiet on the other side. It didn't sound as though anyone was inside, and his hand gripped the crystalline door knob.

Ducking quickly inside the room, he closed the door silently behind him, and surveyed its layout.

The first thing that drew his attention was a mass of white sitting on the side of a desk by the window, illuminated by the moonlight. Those were the fresh blossoms that Leto had been out picking earlier. Reaching out to touch the flowers, he remembered how, in the failing light, the elf had been bronzed by the sun's rays, lending him a healthy, handsome glow.

If only he'd hadn't chased the elf away...

Shaking his head, he dismissed the recurring thoughts of his intermittent friend.

Pulling desk drawers open one by one, Garrett shifted the papers and items inside gingerly, not wanting to truly disturb anything. The lack of scandalous material was a bit of a disappointment; some quills, ink, a pouch of incense, torn slaver invoice. Nothing of value nor of particular interest.

The other drawer was frustratingly empty. If Danarius had anything he wished to hide, he probably would have locked the room or sealed it. Garrett wasn't giving up, however.

If they weren't in here, then where else would Danarius hide all his secrets? It didn't matter; Garrett was sure he had more sleepless nights ahead of him.

Sneaking his way back out of the Magister's parlour, he looked down the opposite direction. It was much darker than where he'd come from, and that part of the corridor hadn't been included in the tour route either.

Garrett was almost going to leave it for another night, but when he heard the sharp gasp of a voice, he froze. Sneaking as quietly down the carpeted hall as he had been the rest of the night, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he descended the poorly lit corridor. There were braziers on the walls, but far enough apart that he was left in the shadow for a good three strides before the next glow of light. Keeping his ears open, his pulse a bit quickened in his chest, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn't be here. It was completely his fault that he was too curious for his own good; he was completely aware of his own nature which was essentially why his father demanded he behave himself.

But this... this was far too interesting.

There was no decor on the walls, no expensive and gaudy paintings, nothing lining the walkway except for luscious carpets, different from the others, plush under his feet and soft in between his toes. The doors were different in this part of the house, sliding instead of the normal ones he was used to. And they were all locked.

Intrigue? Check.

In mid attempt at opening yet another unwilling door, a louder moan prompted him to abandon it. This sound was much closer, directing his steps further into the dark. Quick on the heels of the undeniable exclamation of pleasure, were murmured words. Not any he recognized, but he wasn't imagining them.

Rounding a corner, a sliver of light through the sliding door at the end of the open great room drew his eye. Moving carefully, Garrett strained to hear anything in the deep dark, and when another gasp came, he started. Nerves a bit frayed, he summoned up some courage and continued across the lush floor.

Silence fell over the space again.

Maybe these were Hadriana's apartments. He hadn't gotten a tour of those and realized that he had no idea where anyone of consequence indulged in personal time, nor where any of the servants or slaves slept. Though, he would have been more interested to know where Leto took rest.

And now, thanks to overworked hormones and wanton sounds coming from the room he was just about to spy on, he was way more curious than he should have been.

The door was ajar just enough to peek through, so he did.

Past the door was a dimly lit space, Garrett's roving gaze uncovered the barest glimpse of a bed to one side, and a fireplace across the room.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, a figure with a bony backside and greying hair sauntered directly past his field of vision. Snapping his head to the side, back into the darkness, he had to stifle a laugh. He could have lived the rest of his life without literally seeing Danarius' old ass. And even though it most definitely didn't rank on his list of things to do today, he didn't come all this way, and peek in all those rooms to go back without something entertaining to think about through all the boring hours the days here brought.

Psyching himself up a little, he turned back toward the light, and much to his disgust, the nudity of his host.

Danarius was standing at the foot of the bed, almost skeletal in form, raising a bony arm, curling a crooked finger.

Obviously someone else was in the room with him.

But who? Hadriana?

She was definitely a hell-cat – not bad looking, but not Garrett's type at all – and perhaps Danarius liked a little bit of domination. She seemed the sort to be on top.

If he didn't find Danarius so repulsive, he would have grinned. Admittedly, for him to be nude in the room using his finger to draw someone, he must have been a spy old man. Surely there were women lined up to get a piece of that Magisterial 'power'? Garrett offhandedly wondered what other interesting things transpired when his father used to live in this estate.

Slowly, a finely crafted foot emerged into his view. Garrett's eyes followed the delicate bone structure all the way up; lightly muscled calf, supple thigh, followed by the rest of a pale, but definitely masculine body topped with a mop of ebony hair. He took his time teasingly approaching the salt-and-pepper Magister.

And all of a sudden it wasn't funny _or_ entertaining anymore, leaving Garrett to suffer a boulder in the bottom of his stomach and a faltering heart.

Leto, his lithe, young, handsome elven friend, was Danarius' midnight visitor, clad only in tight leather shorts. Emotions swirled in him, as he fought with himself as to what he should do. Once again, Garrett was at a loss, trapped between _knowing_ better and _wanting_ better for Leto.

Maybe Leto was there to clean something up. Maybe he had made a snack for Danarius.

...or maybe Leto _was_ the snack.

And twice within two days of arriving, he wished for the Maker to take him.

Garrett heard the sound of his teeth grinding anxiously in his ears.

As he saw it, he had two options. Go back to his room and forget he ever saw anything – including a naked Danarius – or stay to witness what was not intended to be witnessed.

It really was none of his business what happened behind closed doors, but he couldn't help himself. If Leto was involved...

Danarius was usually seated whenever he'd seen the two together, and now he realized how tall the slight mage really was. Without robes or adornments, he towered over Leto, even though he looked downright sickly; not like the powerful blood mage everyone in Minrathous, perhaps even everyone throughout the Imperium itself, feared and respected.

Nudity had a way of rendering someone harmless, but when he thought about Leto bare before him, it was the most dangerous thing in the world.

However, he couldn't take his eyes off the older boy.

The elf didn't flinch as Danarius closed the small distance between them and slipped his arms around the slim waist, drawing Leto into him, pressing noisy, open mouthed kisses to the boy's neck. A breathy gasp came from the slave, his trim arms curling around the older man's shoulders, long hands dipping into short, silvering hair.

The back of Garrett's neck tingled familiarly. A strange intolerance began to grow somewhere in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. Leto had his eyes closed, but the faint blush on his fair cheeks spoke volumes. It looked very much like he was enjoying himself under the Magister's busy hands...

...which were now slowly rubbing over the front of Leto's bulging smalls.

Wait. They were... _lovers_?

It couldn't have been as it seemed; Leto was a slave.

There had not been need of an explanation about the nature of their master and slave relationship; Garrett never imaging this type of bond between them when Danarius _offered_ Leto to come to his bedchambers, and then sent him to 'tend' to him in the baths. Now, on top of that mass of confusion, the Magister's hands roved over the boy – Garrett's friend – like a greedy child coveting a prized bauble.

So what _was_ Leto? A toy or something else...?

"I can't wait any longer. Take me in your mouth." Danarius growled, grabbing the boy's hand to tug him down to his knees.

Revulsion bloomed in his stomach as those words met his ears.

"Yes, Master." Leto's voice rumbled, causing Garrett to shiver.

He didn't think he could watch anymore or he just might vomit. He also knew he should have just stayed in his room, but instead he had to be curious and get into trouble.

Maker, he hated when his father was right!

He should have looked away – not just looked away, but turned around and ran – instead, he could only lean closer to the crack in the door.

Jaw dropped open, Garrett stared unblinking as Leto wrapped his hand around the older man's rather thin, half-spirited cock and guided it towards his waiting mouth.

He half expected, maybe half _wanted,_ for Leto to go slowly; take in a little at a time; unpracticed and inexperienced, maybe even gag; defiant disgust etched on his face. _Anything_ to convince Garrett that Leto wasn't _this_; wasn't a slave of the most degrading kind. However, the dark haired boy took the entire length of his master in between his lips, pausing once his nose nuzzled into the unruly hair at the base of Danarius' cock, the delicate skin covering his jawline and throat fluttering as he worked.

Garrett's breath caught in his chest when Leto began sucking in earnest, his defining elven cheeks hollowing. The wet sounds of his mouth, and the glistening of firelight on the drenched cock sliding past his lips over and over made Garrett's own length twitch. Those plush lips he so admired earlier parted so wide, pink tongue sneaking past to stroke and curl in place of long elven fingers.

Garrett had not physically touched the Magister, but he always imagined the mage would be cool to the touch, so sallow and rail thin. Garrett was a stark contrast, always hot to the touch; like he was close to running a fever; thin nowhere – neither in his chest nor his groin – farm and country fed; not picking at food and meals as Danarius did. He knew hard, honest work and had been rewarded with the muscled body he possessed.

From the looks of him, Danarius only need raise a hand to get what he wanted in his life; not a sickle or a bail of hay, nor a hammer or wooden planks. Garrett had gone to school to learn things, but that was where Bethany excelled the most; Carver also a very smart child. Though from a young age, Garrett knew things that weren't written in the various books his twin siblings devoured; things that could only be learned by _doing _and not reading.

And, as any teenage boy, Garrett also knew the weight of his own hard desire.

For most his age, self-knowledge was all they possessed, and Garrett wasn't much different when it came to the type of activity Leto was performing. That was, up until a few months ago when he had had a girlfriend who attempted to perform such an act upon him. Maker bless her heart, she had been eager, but she was all teeth and, well, it hadn't been a happy ending; Garrett having to comfort her after he cried out in pain from an inadvertent nip, and she bawled. The next day he let her down easy, but one thing was for sure; he wasn't going to let _her_ near his sensitive bits again.

But Leto, as in all things, looked like he had been well trained.

It probably would have felt like it _should_ if it had been Leto doing it.

Garrett's hand cupped his crotch firmly, the supple leather hot against his clammy palm.

The mage moaned; breathy and vulgar; a disgusting noise that brought Garrett back to reality, and his hand off his erection in shame. Danarius thrust a crooked hand into Leto's hair, gripping it in a fist, to hold his head still while boney hips thrust, fucking Leto's obedient mouth.

Absolutely repulsed, but more aroused than he should have been witnessing this type of abuse, Garrett's eyebrows furrowed, hands crushed into fists.

"Take those off." Danarius demanded huskily, his cock coming loose from Leto's lips with a distinctive plop.

"Yes, Master."

The elf stood straight, his face shadowed, while he hooked his thumbs under the waistband.

Garrett's tongue slipped out of his mouth to dampen his open lips, eyes trained on the bulge as the black tanned hide was peeled off.

With a pop of the fireplace and a noiseless slide of leather, the remainder of his clothing was pulled down over slim hips. For such a slight frame, Leto was well endowed; jutting out proudly from a neat patch of stick straight, dark hair. Watching it pulse, bouncing slightly, Garrett's brain short-circuited.

Running completely on auto-pilot, hand back on his own straining erection, Garrett kneaded hard.

Glancing to see Leto's expression, he discovered that that blush was still clinging to his cheeks. It even extended to the tips of his ears! Garrett wasn't sure why the wanton blush sent his libido into overtime, but when Danarius flung Leto cock-first against the foot board, his wrinkly old leg forcing the supple limbs of the elf apart, an old veiny hand gliding up from between Leto's cleft backside and up the boy's back to bend him over, the illusion was shattered once again.

Garrett shook his head mutely; forcing his mouth into a tight scowl.

_Maker, no._

Cock still shiny and slick with Leto's saliva, Danarius latched onto his tight backside, spreading cheeks wide, resting himself in between while he massaged and pinched them until they were an angry shade of red. With a vicious slap of flesh on flesh, the mage's palms came down on Leto's hips. Garrett couldn't fool himself into believing what he saw were _not_ trails of blood drip down Leto's flanks, tributaries drawn from the old man's long, sharp fingernails piercing skin. He heard Leto gasp into the bedding, a hiss of pain, as Danarius ruthlessly closed the distance between their bodies, his hips flush with the ripe, pinked buttocks he defiled.

Fingertips coated in elven blood, Danarius traced an index finger in some pattern on Leto's lower back, then raised them to his lips, lapping at the digits until they were clean. Returning his palms over the crescent shaped incisions, he left smudged, bloody hand prints behind claiming the smooth expanse of fair skin.

Without any more hesitation, drawing himself out from the prone body beneath him, Danarius flicked his scrawny hips forward unforgivingly, brutally until he was buried hilt deep again, and Leto cried out, arching his back_._

That wail did nothing for his nerves, and he shifted his weight, hands now squeezing the tops of his own thighs, the pain he caused himself the only thing that stayed his hand. He wanted to go crashing into the room and pummel Danarius until he bled; just like he'd done to Leto.

But all he could do was _watch_.

And he shouldn't even have been doing that.

He shouldn't be seeing this; seeing either one of them in this way. Leto's own hands were wrapped around the edge of the mattress by his knees, on the balls of his feet, ass as high in the air as he could get it and still Garrett couldn't help but stare.

Curdled stomach; sour and unsteady, screamed for him to look away from the debauched scene, but the flames under that, somewhere low in his abdomen burned, his arousal still aching traitorously, caught inside the confines of his trousers.

Too busy watching Danarius manhandle his 'property', Garrett hadn't noticed the face of his friend twisted in what he could only assume was pain, bared to him, eyes open, staring straight at him. Pink splashed sensually over his face, he panted raggedly; those telling green eyes, half-lidded and _there_ in the moment, blinked every time Danarius grunted, ramming himself into Leto, the force of which ruffled the dark hair on his head.

He knew that he couldn't possibly be seen from behind the dark crack in the door, but Garrett stumbled backward in spite of himself, falling on his backside, desperately trying to get away from those eyes. Regaining his feet, he fled the great room silently, torn between the traitorous aching in his trousers and the bile in his throat.

The last sound Garrett heard before he managed to escape earshot was a single broken snarl of depravity courtesy of the Master of the house.


	3. Optimistic Pessimism

_A/N: _Warnings for slash, Danarius, a little bad language, poorly written dream / action sequences and teenage hormones.  
><em>_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Day Three<span>  
><strong>

**o-o**

Leto's mouth was yielding and compliant.

Garrett had forgotten how they had come to be in this... _position_, but it quickly became irrelevant the more the elf's moistness was revealed to him.

There was no struggle, no fight for dominance as their tongues curled around one another. Trapped between strong human arms, Leto mewled into Garrett's mouth, the strapping boy's chest pressed pointedly against the slave's, allowing not even a breath between them. Leto wiggled under the pressure of Garrett's body until finally a cleaver, eager hand cupped his clothed length, leaving the taller boy gasping against gaping, willing lips.

Mouths unlatched, Leto dropped to his knees and began to work at the buckle of Garrett's leather breeches. He was quick and efficient, and the young Hawke, rational thought drowned out by the burn of lust, supported himself with the outstretched arms that had helped him pin Leto only moments ago. Garrett panted raggedly as the elf's hands slipped into his trousers and stroked him too quickly; too perfectly.

He couldn't be sure, but at some point, he thought that perhaps Leto may have slipped him into his mouth. Even though he didn't look down to confirm his suspicions, the heat of the act was almost too much and just the thought of the possibilities made his blood rush molten and viscous in his veins, already drowning in the tightness around his manhood.

Everything was so hot, and he was so close; no stamina and no chance at resisting, leaving Garrett to curl his hands against the bricks and hang on for dear life. His hips bucked on their own, his forehead mashed against the rough wall as his racing heart almost busted out of his chest, breathing too fast, lightheadedness threatening to drop him uselessly to the floor.

A growl; sweet vibration around him; _through_ him sent Garrett careening to the edge.

Head thrown back, a shameless cry was ripped from his lips as something almost painful within him snapped, fingertips scrabbling for purchase in the grooves between bricks.

Shuddering, he squeezed his eyes shut, letting pleasure having its way with him. That dedicated hand swiped the slick pad of a finger over the head of his still throbbing, overly sensitive cock, coaxing another debased yelp. Only after the sharp grip of sensation had receded did Garrett's eyes finally open, his blanked mind leaving him to huff and quiver until the haze cleared.

Squinting into the black, dizzying emptiness above, something white and fluttering began to fall from the depths and towards his face, twisting, dancing in some unseen current. As it neared him, his eyes tracked it until one shut automatically, when it tumbled down his face.

That silky petal caressed him as it fell, and he shuddered, feeling it too strongly, as if it were the touch of another person.

Then he heard a chuckle; a throaty sound, but clear and honest.

Looking down where Leto had been so relentlessly working him to release, Garrett's mouth parted in a silent gasp.

His innumerably talented, rosy-skinned friend was littered with white petals. The one that had rolled down his own upturned face meandered the distance between him and the crown of Leto's head, a stark contrast to his mussed hair.

Taking in the others curious expression, Garrett's amber eyes were stubbornly staring at the one petal that now clung stubbornly to Leto's glistening lips. He wanted to catch that petal between his own, so that they could share it's sure sweetness, mouths meeting in a thrilling embrace.

Yes. That's what he wanted, more than anything.

Even though they'd just been inside of each other, lapping and tasting, Garrett couldn't remember what that was like; only able to concentrate on the need to do it again.

But a slow stream of white petals continued past his eyes, beckoning his gaze to the flora trickling down Leto's beautiful lithe shoulders; sliding over his bare chest...

... And he smiled, his voice a quiet rumble as he opened his mouth to speak.

_Garrett_...

Those lips forming the sounds of his name made him shudder anew and Garrett reached out with his hand to run his fingertips over them.

"...Garrett..."

A small sound escaped his own throat as his sensitive fingers brushed over pale skin, the flat of his thumb caressing the kiss-swollen mouth of his friend, smoothing the petal away.

"It's time to get up, son." Leto said, under Garrett's touch.

_Son? Wait. That's not right..._

His name came again, but it wasn't Leto that spoke it. The voice was calling from somewhere else. Tilting his head toward the void above again, he tried to figure out, in vain, where it was coming from.

Unwilling to let the creature in front of him out of his sight for long, he gave up the search easily, wishing for nothing more than to be here with Leto in the moment, sure it would lead to everything he'd ever wanted.

But Leto's colours – the blunted green of his eyes, the burnt brown hair, creamy skin – all blurred together, wispy edges of his visage shimmering; threatening dissipation.

_No, stay._

The blushed satin of that desired mouth was no longer corporeal as it all but blinked out of existence leaving behind only the petal between Garrett's thumb and finger.

And then he was falling, the world pulled out from under his feet.

"Garrett!"

Jerking awake to both his father's urgent voice and the sudden feeling of falling, Garrett's foggy eyes followed the length of his arm jutted out into mid air, and past to the ornate ceiling of his guestroom. Hastily moving the appendage to shade his squinted eyes from the morning light flooding the room as his father drew back the heavy curtains, he fought to right his mind.

_What the hell...?_

The sunshine seemed to bring fresh images with it, some from the dream, some recycled from past encounters and thoughts; all of a rather bawdy nature streaming too quickly past his sleep-addled brain. When his father's concerned tone shattered the shaky silence in his head, he purged his mind and focused, word by word, on the sentence.

"Didn't sleep well again last night?"

"Uh-uh." Garrett muttered amidst a yawn, casually scratching the bristle on his cheek, slowly returning to his proper consciousness.

"Well, my apologies, but you have fifteen minutes to wash and such." The older Hawke informed him, crossing the room.

"Wait. What?"

"We're going hunting."

Garrett groaned a little in protest.

He'd been ripped away from a perfectly good dream for _that_?

Unsure of the time and how long he'd actually been asleep, it was only because he was aware of his father's enjoyment of the hunt that he knew it was, most likely, obscenely early in the morning.

"Come to the stables when you're ready." His father demanded in a rather sing-song voice and dipped out the door before Garrett could object again with a clear head.

Grumbling incoherently, Garrett raked his hands down his face. Sitting up while trying to avoid the harsh beams invading from the window, something cold and slimy moved against his pelvis.

"..."

Slowly taking his hands away from his face, Garrett knew, without looking, what had happened. Unsure why he needed proof of something undeniable, he flung the blanket off himself to bear witness to the finale of his dream; very wet and very tangible, soaked through the crotch of his underclothes.

And he wasn't sure whether to curse or laugh.

Despite the fact that he had an embarrassing mess in his smalls to clean up, he wasn't any less on edge than he had been before he went to bed.

And _that_ wasn't funny.

* * *

><p>After a very quick clean up job, Garrett made his way to the stables, still a little weak in the knees from recurring flashes of that damnable dream.<p>

What a silly dream.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't _silly_, per se.

The random twitching in his pants attested to that.

But, in any case, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about it.

They'd been practically devouring each other's faces, that part was much easier to remember than he would have liked, but the sensations had been lost in translation somewhere. He couldn't quite recall what Leto's mouth felt or tasted like – only that he'd been subservient inside of Garrett's embrace until he slipped out of it and took things into his own hands. Obliging, Garrett's mind provided answers to those more obvious questions. _Warm_ and _good_, respectively, though somewhat utilitarian, according to other experiences that the young Fereldan had before.

But, over and over, the lack of simple detail nagging, Garrett found himself almost obsessed with the idea of exploring Leto to uncover those curiosities.

He knew it was just a dream; a product of his idle, exhausted brain – but it was because of what Leto _was_ that he felt awful about it. Here he was having a wet dream about a slave who was forced to perform like a two copper whore. No matter how he looked at it, such a scenario _wasn't_ a dream for Leto – it was harsh reality.

Even so, and warring with himself over it, Garrett couldn't shake it or the feelings it drudged up.

Shortly after he mentally flogged himself in an attempt to rip his thoughts away from his one-track mind, and only long enough to get outside, Garrett was back at it.

As if connected by their very natures, his own late night reverie and thoughts of Danarius' violation of Leto swirled together, and eventually Garrett was the Master of the house receiving his servant's willing – _always_ willing – affections. There was _no_ scenario in which Garrett wanted to hurt Leto – not even in his latest fantasies – and sometimes when he couldn't dismiss the bloody sight Danarius made of the slave, his sexy, consensual work of fiction was a saviour and not a condemnation.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, however, Garrett had to admit that he was curious about what the blood mage had traced on the elf's back as he had his way with him over the bed...

Maker take him before he drove himself insane!

This had to stop...

Not only because he was nearing his destination, but also because he didn't want to be at _half-mast_ when he arrived.

"It's about time!" Teased his father atop a good-natured looking chestnut and white piebald horse. "Thought you got lost."

"Good day, Young Hawke." Greeted Danarius, seated on his own sleek, midnight coloured steed.

Garrett lamented at how his day just got a whole lot worse.

"Uh. Good morning." Only able to meet the older man's eye for an awkward split second, Garrett instead looked unseeingly toward the stables. Not ten feet from the man who he witnessed force himself on his delicate looking servant, Garrett found himself forcing his temper to stay even with a clenched fist.

But movement from beyond the huge stable doors caught his eye and Leto emerged from the barn, as if on queue, with two horses in tow; one a lovely dark brown, the other a steely grey. Dressed in his usual outfit, white shift and brown pants, this time he equipped riding boots cuffed just below the knee. Previously, Garrett had only seen him run around barefoot.

The sight of Leto both elated and troubled his heart. Garrett tried to make eye contact with Leto, but the elf wouldn't allow it. Unable to dismiss the image from his mind of the elf's face pressed against the mattress as Danarius took him from behind... he thought the worst. If Leto saw him lurking in the darkness just past the door just a handful of hours ago he didn't know what he'd do...

...Or say.

"You've ridden before, I assume." Probed Danarius, his mount shifting its head impatiently.

"Plenty." he lied. He had ridden before, but only a couple of mildly successful times.

"Good." The mage grinned a little too widely, setting Garrett's empty stomach sour. "Give him Tantalus, Leto."

Garrett easily mounted the sturdy brown animal, and with a cluck of Danarius' tongue, the three began slowly down the neatly kept lawn toward the edge of Danarius' property. He couldn't help a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Leto was indeed accompanying them on the outing, but he frowned when he noticed the elf bringing up the rear of the party like any other slave or servant would have.

Garrett didn't like it.

And he liked it less when the two mages rekindled their seemingly singular topic of conversation.

Nonchalantly slowing his horse's pace, Garrett fell away from the front line while Leto's easy gait remained unchanged. Soon the two were riding silently side by side, Garrett stealing glances at the fetching elf.

While in silence, being in Leto's presence was strangely soothing.

Despite of all that he'd seen in the last few hours, he didn't think about anything improper or disturbing, and instead his mind was quieted; allowed to take in the scenery as they travelled towards a massive growth of unfamiliar trees and flora.

Minrathous was an unusual place. Garrett wouldn't have expected a veritable forest to be smack dab in the middle of a desert looking all healthy and green, but there it was.

It was strangely convenient to have such a place near by... And the gardens, lush and voracious, blooms of all colours and scents...

He suspected magic was to thank for all of the unusual against nature sorts of things taking place everywhere around him, but could magic really have been the explanation to _all_ his suspicions?

Ahead of them, the two elders broke into a canter, now much closer to the forest than they had been, and Leto silently followed suit. Not wanting to be left behind, Garrett nudged the side of his steed with his heels to catch up. Eyes attached to the form of the elf in front of him, he noted the sturdy looking crossbow strapped to the elf's back. With all of the magic around them, he wondered if Leto would be the only one hunting today. None of the men, save for the slave, had a physical weapon, and hunting with magical hands seemed like cheating.

Garrett shrugged the thought off, pleased to keep his attention on Leto alone. The elf usually held himself somewhat lackadaisically, but there was tension in his posture; tight thighs, tensed buttocks, as he attempted to fight the natural rebound of the horse's canter. Garrett wouldn't have thought anything of it, but his own bottom was bounced relentlessly – tellingly – upon the saddle atop his mount.

And again, he felt a pocket of rage rupture in his gut.

His eyes flicked narrowly to Danarius' distant form bobbing almost haughtily on his black, shining stallion, as his temper bubbled again. How he'd like to have just five minutes in a room alone with that bastard...

Garrett wondered how much more mistreatment of Leto he'd be able to stomach before snapping.

He felt like a ticking time-bomb, and Leto was his fuse.

At the entrance to the forest, one of Danarius' men waved as they approached. Surrounded by four huge hounds similar to Mabari standard, they were different looking in the muzzle and more lithe than stocky but similarly coloured with intelligent eyes. He explained that one of the canines was newly trained, and it was up to the Magister if he wanted to utilize the animal or not. Danarius agreed to the exchange and soon they breached the shaded path into the wood.

Garrett, feeling protective, decided to keep the rear line with Leto, the hounds sandwiched in between them and the mages.

Magister and former apprentice were still caught up in a spirited conversation about something Garrett was sure he didn't care about, so he took the opportunity to break the silence with Leto. It might have taken him a long few minutes to draw the courage to speak, still unsure about whether or not Leto caught him peeking last night, so Garrett fully intended to steer the conversation to something safe.

"Uh. Did you sleep well last night?"

Leto's head snapped to face Garrett as much as he could while seated.

And Garrett winced inwardly, his own gaze cast away from the moody elf. Damn him and his one-track mind.

"What I meant was..." His hands gripped the reins in frustration. Why was it that just being around Leto always rendered him some inept adolescent?

With a sigh, his amber eyes made their way back to Leto's face. Though, instead of being angry, that same look of surprise Garrett had been witness to two nights ago after Hadriana had stormed out of the parlour crossed his face again.

That soft daze lent Garrett the mettle to just come out with his very simple question. "How are you?"

As if suspicious of the line of questioning, Leto's expression turned guarded. "I... am well. Why do you ask?"

It was Garrett's turn to be surprised. He'd never been asked _why _he asked someone how they were and he faltered. "It is... polite to ask after a friend's health."

Again, Leto's face lost all its tension, features softening in a most boyish way; a look of almost appeasement reaching his eyes.

It was endearing to Garrett how honest Leto's demeanour was – fluid and changing almost constantly, even if he didn't know the exact cause of it.

"Is it?"

Was the reply before a chorus of barks and yelps caught everyone's attention, leaving Garrett to act fast on the reins to hold his spooked steed steady.

After diverting a disaster that would have left him with a sore ass and bruised pride, Garrett looked over to the disruption just to see the newly trained hound bolt off into the woods after nothing more than a breeze, leaving his more seasoned brethren behind.

He heard Danarius curse, then bellow Leto's name. "Bring that hound back!"

Conversation abandoned under the excitement, Leto dismounted quick as a flash and took off into the brush after the dog.

Tantalus was still unnerved, and pranced around in a circle, tossing his head. Pulling hard on the bridle in a bid to control the jerky movements, Garrett barely had time to process what had happened. Watching Leto bound over fallen logs and other perils, he knew he just couldn't let him go alone.

Dismounting much more clumsily than the older boy had, he began a spirited chase.

"Oi! Garrett!" his father shouted just as he hit the brush.

Awkward momentum propelling him forward, it was all he could do to pay attention to the thick, complicated roots threatening to help assist with an ungraceful face-plant if he stepped wrongly.

"Be careful! Your mother will have my hide if I don't bring you back in one piece!"

He was right; Mother would have been quite upset if Garrett got hurt, but he wasn't going to let Leto suffer a similar fate because of some poorly trained hound. His mother would have also been upset if she knew he had an opportunity to help someone and he passed it up; even if it _was _an elf.

Flinging an acknowledging hand into the air for his father, he pressed on.

Wind whipping past his ears, he didn't see any broken vegetation or abused ground; in fact, he didn't see anything that indicated Leto or the dog had even been there. He lost whatever trail he thought he had, and soon as he was far enough out that all the noise of his small hunting party had lapsed into silence.

And Garrett stopped, pulse pounding in his ears, breathing heavily from exertion.

Assessing his foreign surroundings a little more thoroughly, it was only then he considered how foolish it was of him to run off like that. He really had no idea where Leto had gone, nor in which direction the dog and elf were even travelling toward. And even if someone told him which direction that might have been, he was still so turned around that he'd never make heads nor tails of it anyway.

"Shit." Muttering to the empty air, he wiped a loose cottony sleeve over his face to sop up the sweat trickling down his forehead. Glancing above him, the sun shone dappled spots on the forest floor through the thick canopy. It was rather peaceful wherever it was he was at. Too bad it wasn't the time for sight-seeing.

A shrill, screeching yowl somewhere within his earshot him drew his attention, leaving his blood to run icily in his veins. That sound, nay, that _scream,_ was thick with the pitch of pain. And where there was pain, there was also something inflicting it. The only good thing about the cry was that it wasn't any that belonged to a man.

After a tense moment, he heard it again and moved quickly and as silently as he could through the wilderness. More in control of his heart rate despite the fact he suspected that he was lost, he was all adrenaline when he reached a clearing littered with fallen tree trunks. Scanning the area, he took note of all he could while looking for a landmark. It might have been a but late for that, but he'd feel better about his chances if it turned out that he _was_ lost.

Then silence drew over the wood once again; thick with denial, like there had been no wails of death moments ago.

Actually, it was too quiet. There were no birds, no other animal sounds; nothing except the ominous flutter of leaves.

But it was the commonplace rustling of bushes forced his heart into his throat.

Attempting to swallow it down back where it belonged, he pivoted, the hair standing up on the back of his neck; voice weaker than he intended it to be. "Leto?"

Another rustle.

Straining against the silence until it buzzed in his ears, he called out Leto's name again. "This isn't funny." He informed the space around him, his higher senses becoming hyper aware.

A hand clamped around his mouth from behind, and a familiar rich baritone spoke lowly beside him; moist words on the shell of his ear. "Be silent."

Garrett stiffened and forced his breathing to slow as much as he could, but he was too aware of the presence behind him.

"We're being hunted."

Immediately Garrett's hands twitched as his eyes roved the littered clearing searching for a weapon.

There had been no real reason for him to bring a weapon with them to Minrathous. More than that, he was still technically a child under his father's rule. And even though he was more than capable with a weapon, his old man played the role of sacrificing parent rather well with his talents and general magical know-how. Because of it, Garrett had never felt unsafe.

Still, being able to run almost anything through with a blade was comforting. Even with a slightly overprotective father, when the option was not available, it made the unknown a whole lot more intimidating.

He'd held a sword ever since he could stand, after all.

Leto's palm pressed over his mouth felt too hot, the puff of words laced with the promise of danger against his ear arousing.

What the hell was wrong with him these days? He was becoming a slave to his base needs; almost _everything_ Leto said and did interested him in a way he attempted to convince himself was inappropriate.

And now, of all times, was not the time to...

"Prepare yourself."

The sound of Leto shifting behind him caused him to glance around, grabbing the first thing he found as a suitable weapon. A huge branch, mostly straight with a pointy, splintered end would suffice to pierce flesh, bludgeon and keep enemies at bay. Gripping it, he gave an experimental swing, sending small pieces of loose bark flying. It was a good weight; would crack some skulls given half a chance.

Something told him he'd have that chance.

He might have been young, but courage wasn't something the oldest of the Hawke brood generally lacked. Turning back to the elf, he grinned toothily. "Ready."

Hopping down from the fallen trunk that had given him the necessary boost to have been able to wrap that hand around the taller boy's mouth, Leto arched an eyebrow, confusion etched on his face.

That made Garrett a little self-conscious about the massive tree limb he held that was near as tall as he was. Leto wasn't the first person, nor would he be the last, to be skeptical about the Fereldan's choice of weaponry.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, and the limb would have to do.

Garrett noted that the elf now wielded the heavy looking crossbow that had been strapped to his back earlier. How he'd moved so easily though the forest with that awkward contraption was beyond him, so perhaps they both were a mystery to one another when it came to choice of armament.

Loud snarling ripped their attention from each other, however, sending them standing back to back. Along with that and a flash of silver fur, it didn't take a genius to figure out what species their adversaries were.

Wolves.

"How many are there, you think?" muttered Garrett, turning his head ever so slightly towards the elf's pointed ear, eyes still searching the trees enclosing the area.

"Six."

"Oh."

Almost instantly after he spied a bloodied muzzle, Leto seemed to read his mind.

"I watched them kill the hound."

Garrett swallowed. The cry that drew him to this clearing and to Leto had been what it sounded like: an animal in the throes of death. For anything or anyone nearer to it, it would have been uncomfortably deafening.

Calming his breathing, the sound of a bolt let loose and the feral cry of its intended target signalled the beginning of the fight for their lives. Though Garrett didn't think only six would be _too_ life threatening, it was more than appropriate to be wary of them. After all, he'd never fought with Leto before, so he would be unsure of the elf's movements and stances. As well, he had to take into account that he was using a stick. Sure it might have been a huge branch, but it wasn't the slashing implement he preferred, and it might splinter and break under the weight of the first impact for all he knew.

In spite of all that, they had little choice but to fight.

There was nothing slow about the encounter as the wolves descended upon them, and Garrett swung wide with a grunt. Barely aware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his palms at impact, reverberations tingling up his arms, he batted a charging wolf away, sending the sinewy body flying through the air crashing into a massive tree trunk.

The animal regained its footing causing Garrett to shake his head with disbelief. If that hit had been with a blade, the animal would have been split in twain and Garrett would have moved on to the next.

Bludgeoning would only do internal damage, and without proof of his violent actions, he hoped against hope that the rest would be less tenacious.

With an ear protectively trained on the sound of Leto's actions with his crossbow, Garrett's third huge swipe took two out at once, and they yelped, limping away to recover. Three were wounded from his blunt weapon, though he could not be sure how badly. And again, he had felt the tell-tale shudder of the wood he gripped, the certain creak of abuse lost in the yips from the wolves as it connected.

The next attack would see the limb shattered. He was sure of it.

He had already been keeping an eye out for a new branch, but if he was left undefended, the scavengers could be on him in seconds...

What would they do then?

A new infusion of adrenaline pumped through him and Garrett thrust brutally toward a fresh foe.

Ignoring the ripping pain of wood forced under the skin of his palms while they slid down the length of the makeshift handle as it met resistance, the pointed tip impaled the charging wolf in the chest, dropping it without ceremony. That was the last action the branch would withstand and it near exploded under the force. Dropping the pieces, he turned to see Leto reload and let loose another bolt like lightning.

Meeting his mark in the flank, the wolf yelped and was sent scuttling across the mossy forest floor.

"Yours makes three dead, the rest wounded." Leto informed him.

"My tree broke." He chuckled, tossing a broken remnant over his shoulder in an attempt to bring some levity back into the situation.

But when Leto raised the crossbow at his chest, his smart mouth dried up. "Uh..."

"Get down."

Instinct taking over, he dropped to his knees in front of the lithe boy, his hands instinctively reaching out to clutch the boy's hips. Falling short, they fisted the dirt at his knees; his forehead inches away from a clothed, taut elven belly; the tip of his nose near to what he knew was a stick-straight dark patch of hair between the elf's legs.

Maker help him, he didn't have time to be thinking like this.

Keeping his eyes trained above him, Leto's elbow locked while he took aim.

Time slowed for Garrett taking in the casual concentration. Lips slightly pursed, eyes slightly squinted, Leto was the very definition of cool and collected as his finger moved on the trigger. Leto's easy power belayed his status and once again, his hormones made themselves known in the aroused sort of awe he felt. The elf had to have been stronger than he looked to be able to wield a heavy weapon with such ease, and the warrior inside Garrett felt a kinship – yet another bond they could share if he could ever get past the wall Leto had up to keep him away.

This slave...

No.

_Leto_ was obviously more than a slave; so much more than he expected.

A final shrill yelp cut the air and then the solid thump of the carcass meeting the ground.

Garrett twisted around behind him to witness Leto's handiwork; the huge wolf now just a mass of wasted meat, red clumps of fur staining its snowy neck. Even from his place below the elf, he could see that it had been taken down only a few strides away from where Garrett had dropped to his knees at Leto's command.

Being an older brother came with many responsibilities; helping his parents when they needed him, knowing his role as a man, being a role model for other generations of Hawkes, and protecting his family in the best way he could. It was a good thing it came easy to him, because having two apostate mages in the family required some muscle from time to time. Every member of his family was precious to him and he'd not let one suffer over the other if he could help it.

In short, Garrett Hawke had been the one to save and protect others.

He never needed saving.

Until now.

And he could not have been more grateful. It would have only taken a few good chomps from those strong wolf jaws and he would have been maimed or worse.

"You." Leto spoke lowly, his voice breathy despite his calm aura. "You are... not a mage."

At those words, Garrett applied his full attention to the elf above him.

A mage? Why would he think Garrett was a mage?

Blinking, he shook his head. If anything, that display of power against their foes was a solid indication of where his talents lay. He'd seen mages who were powerfully built, but none who could wield a weapon of that size or crude design.

And that hadn't been quite as long as his favourite warblade in Lothering.

It was obvious that Leto was having some difficulty digesting the fact.

"You said your father taught you about magic..." he questioned, sounding a little scandalized.

Garrett felt rather silly still on his knees, so he, somewhat shakily, regained his height. "Well, no." He began to explain, brushing at his breeches. "He _educated_ all of us about magic, but he only _taught_ magic to my sister."

Only after a vague nod did Leto sling the crossbow over his shoulder and stalk off.

How strange.

The physical distance between them was an obvious way to allow Leto his space; the way he always seemed to do when he Garrett got too close. There was a lot of that since they met, and it was severely disconcerting.

Leto assuming he was a mage? What did it matter anyway? If he'd been a mage in the Imperium he would have at least fit in. Not that that's what he wanted or anything. The decadent lifestyle disgusted him, the brutal social structure was not one he cared for, and owning slaves? That and blood magic were most possibly the two things Garrett decided he hated most since he arrived.

"Leto?"

But now he had the distinct feeling something had changed between them.

"I think they will not come back." he responded swiftly, shutting Garrett effectively down. "But I do not think we should linger."

With a sigh, Garrett trudged after Leto with a mind full of questions; rerunning the last couple days worth of interactions with the servant over and over in the way he'd become accustomed to lately. This time, however, he spent more time on the platonic details. Better to get used to that side of their relationship; he was obviously getting nowhere on any other avenue... not that he was getting anywhere at all.

And why did the elf always get to make the moody, emotional exit?

* * *

><p>"But father!" he whispered stubbornly, the frustration thick beneath it "Leto didn't even do anything! It wasn't his fault that those wolves killed that dog."<p>

Another slap of flesh drew his gaze upon the door as if he could see through it, quickly followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor like a sack of potatoes. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his hands, he balled them into fists. He had denied magical healing for his wounds after they'd been cleaned up, preferring the natural, albeit more painful method of his body's own unaided regeneration.

After leaving the infirmary, he'd arrived at the Magister's parlour in search of his father, and maybe a certain elf, when he was intercepted a door down.

However, his father had not been fast enough to lead the teenager off before he'd heard the first impact, the colour draining from his face. He didn't have to interrogate his father; the dual look of concern and disgust enough to tell him something very bad was happening behind that door.

"I've got to tell him what happened. Leto didn't do anything wrong."

"Garrett." Began his father patiently "We cannot interfere. It is not our place."

He shuddered, the hair on the back of his neck and his arms standing on end; skin prickling. He recognized the summoning of magics, not just from the tell-tale sign of thickness in the air, but his very blood seemed to thin in his veins.

_Is this blood magic...?_

Fear struck his heart then.

He could tell his father felt it too. Shooting a silent plea with his eyes at Malcolm, the older man had already snatched his arm and was tugging him along.

A whimper from the room stopped Garrett, planting his feet stubbornly in the carpet, jerking his arm away from the light grasp of his father.

"No. There's gotta be something we can do."

Malcolm rounded on him. "And what do you suggest? Hmm? We are _guests_ in the home of a highly respected and feared Magister of the Tevinter Imperium. We are unprotected here, Garrett. If provoked, Danarius could make it so we'd never be heard from or seen ever again."

"We can't just _leave him there_ -"

"Yes, _my son_." Malcolm ground out. "We _can_. And we will."

"But -"

His father seized his bicep in a painful, bruising hold, causing the sturdy teen to wince.

If it was one thing he knew about his father, it took a lot to get him angry, and even then, he maintained his composure. But Garrett did not even remember the last time he witnessed the patriarch in such an agitated state.

"_You do not know anything_." Malcolm spat in muted anger, jerking Garrett firmly by the arm, leaving the youngster shocked and speechless.

"That elf..." his father's whisper took on an edge of warning, his face only inches from Garrett's. "...could be the instrument of your _death_ if Danarius commanded it."

Meeting his father's intimidating gaze for only a moment, Garrett was forced to look away, eyes embarrassingly wet, lips pressed in a thin, trembling line. Finally acquiescing, he followed his father down the hall, head bowed, the picture of obedience, but inside he couldn't believe he was giving up.

He let Leto down; the pitiful whimper and blatant sounds of abuse just about killed him.

But, as his father seemed to like to point out, their hands were tied.

So when they passed Hadriana in the corridor heading towards the Magister's parlour, he didn't believe it to be a coincidence.

* * *

><p>Malcolm Hawke never did anything without a reason.<p>

So, according to that truth, there had to be a good reason why he'd gotten so heated when Garrett challenged him earlier. Garrett never had any reason to challenge his father before, and it could have been the simple fact that he wouldn't drop the issue, but it was _wrong_ of Leto to take punishment when he didn't deserve it.

Besides that, Malcolm had claimed his son didn't know 'anything'.

Whatever that meant.

Garrett scoffed disbelievingly. Surely Danarius wouldn't go so far as to murder his former apprentice or his son... Though, the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if his father could be right. But to imply that Leto would be the one to do such a deed was preposterous.

...Wasn't it?

Garrett dug his hands into his hair, scratching his scalp with his mostly undamaged fingertips. Thinking like this would only serve to drive him crazy. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to relax and take it easy for a half a day and get his shit together.

Yes, that was it. He obviously was too close to things he shouldn't have anything to do with; things his father had warned him against even before they arrived.

_And _he needed to stop letting his hormones rule his head.

Turning his palms over to look at them, bandages wound securely over and around, he couldn't help but feel a rock in his gut. There were things, with some effort, he could put behind him, but Leto was something he couldn't – no – _didn't_ want to leave behind.

What had Danarius done to him? How had he suffered under the Magister's hand this time? What about Hadriana? He still didn't know their dynamic. There was still so much he didn't understand.

After their argument, Garrett was escorted back to his room by his father – who he fully expected to magically seal the door to keep him out of trouble – or at least until he cooled off. It didn't matter what Malcolm did to keep him from leaving, Garrett felt so helpless he didn't know what to do anyway.

So when his father had come to his room to retrieve him for their nightly meal, Garrett had sent him away with the excuse that he wasn't feeling well. And it wasn't a lie, but honestly he just didn't want to sit in the company of that Tevinter bastard any longer than he had to.

And Malcolm had left him without an argument... or a holding spell.

He'd paced the marble floor of his room so much he thought there had to be a groove in it by now. This place was suffocating him, but for all it's perils, he felt ignorantly safe in this room.

In the prettily dressed room he couldn't get into any trouble if he didn't need to see anyone. Perhaps he could take his meals in peace and quiet, feigning sickness, reading books, looking out the window.

In the prettily dressed cage he could perhaps admit a very few, his father, maybe Leto to bathe him, really _tend_ to him.

Did he just think that? Maker preserve him.

He raked his hands through his hair, pulling at it wondering idly if he might be going mad.

In the prettily dressed prison he felt like he was suffocating.

He needed sleep.

He needed escape.

He needed Leto.

Hastily grabbing the lantern off the bedside table, he fled in search of all or none.

* * *

><p>When he arrived at the clearing, it was near twilight. The wooded, overgrown path had been dark, and a bit treacherous, forcing him to light the lantern before getting too far.<p>

Shadows cast from the sturdy gazebo spoke to him of secrets and dark things, the twisted iron foreboding; not anything like the relaxing peace he had when he'd happened upon it in the light of day. Even still it was the solitude under the open sky that seduced him, not the structure itself.

Garrett was a little disappointed when he saw it abandoned. Not that he expected anything different, but he thought that as the household closed down for the evening someone might have occupied the space.

Maybe a special someone.

Surely in that mansion of madness a servant or two would require time to regather their sanity. Or perhaps he was mistaken.

With a shrug, he hung the lamp from a small hook protruding from a decorative overhang.

Sly as ever, the hanging structure almost dumped him overboard, and he laughed in spite of himself; once safely righted. His hands, gripping the chains, had stung pointedly, sore and red and raw underneath the dressings from the healer.

Breathing deeply of the humid evening air, the notes of unfamiliar flora were even stronger than that of the daytime. To some it might have been overpowering, but flowers reminded him of home. Away for only a short time, Garrett found he missed the gentle hand of his mother and the near constant bickering of his siblings.

At home it was simple, and peaceful.

That's why he'd not expected his father to get physical like he did earlier, and in fact, thinking about it now, Malcolm should have been completely on his side! He was an apostate. He _knew_ what it was like to be unwillingly under someone else's rule. Not only that, but he had once been Danarius' student. He _must_ have known where Garrett was coming from when he wanted to save Leto from his fate behind that heavy wooden door.

On top of that, his father had humbled him so thoroughly that even now, with all the distance between them, he _still _felt like a misbehaved child. He was glad no one had been around to witness that chiding. Especially-

"Forgive me. I was not aware anyone else knew of this place."

Turning toward the sound of the voice, he saw what could only be Leto standing just out of the reach of light, a loose hood pulled over his head. Bowing his shadowed face, he turned and began to walk away from the serene scene.

"Uh. Wait." Garrett begged, forgetting he was on a very unstable piece of furniture. Swinging his long legs over the edge, he practically jumped off it, landing, somehow, solidly on his feet, leaving the swing swaying behind him. "Leto?"

At the sound of his name, Leto halted.

And a knot curled in Garrett's stomach. Part of him was excited the boy stopped, but another part of him was nervous about that very thing. He wasn't sure what he'd do with him once he had his attention.

Leto turned slowly to face the other young man. Under that hood, his face was almost completely shadowed except, Garrett noted; _always noted –_ those plush lips. "Serah Hawke?"

"Garrett." He proclaimed quickly, taking a step toward the rounded stairs. "Uh, I'm no _Serah_." he breathed to calm himself. "I'm just... Garrett."

Leto nodded slightly. "Garrett, then."

At hearing Leto speak his name for the first time since he met the elf, Garrett's face beamed with delight; music to his rounded, human ears.

"Do you come here often? Is this _your_ place?"

"Ah... Yes." Leto began rather carefully. "I come when I am not... needed by Danarius."

_Needed._ Garrett lamented. _Needed, indeed._

Shifting awkwardly, Garrett searched for a topic of discussion; something to keep the conversation alive. This was what he'd been waiting for. He'd wanted so badly to have some time with the elf, since he'd so elegantly blown it thus far, he found his feet leaden, and his brain fuzzy.

"Thank you. For... the forest. I -" he struggled.

"There is no need for you to thank me. I should thank you." Assisted Leto, offering a gentle smile. "You are a most talented warrior."

Garrett shrugged, shaking his head. "Not me. But you and that crossbow. Brilliant. For a second there, I thought you were going to shoot me!"

Leto dropped his head, the hood concealing more than before, leaving Garrett to wonder if he'd already slipped up.

Maybe it was time to quit while he was ahead; if there was even such a thing when it came to conversing with Leto. Not only did Garrett have a little talent with the sword, he also had an unnatural talent for saying stupid things. "But actually, I was just leaving."

Leto's head jerked up when Garrett's lie filled the space between them.

"No." Garrett heard the hesitation in that rich voice. "I'll leave. Excuse me for disturbing you."

_This isn't how it's supposed to turn out..._

Setting his jaw and dredging up some courage, he refused to let this pass him by. "Wait. Leto. I... I lied." He swallowed, tripping over the words. "I wasn't just leaving, and – I don't want you to leave either." Glancing tenuously, he waited for the part of Leto's face he could see to show some sort of indication...

And just as he had given up ever seeing it again... there it was.

A smile.

An honest to goodness smile for all his inelegant bumbling! He scratched the scruff at his jaw sheepishly, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

Crossing the threshold of light, Leto ascended the stairs onto the gazebo floor.

Close enough to the swinging sleeper, Garrett ceased it's movement with a strong hand, steadying it for the elf to climb on.

"It's tricky." Their voices warned each other in unison.

Garrett's head whipped to look over his shoulder to see Leto mirroring his helpful posture.

And Garrett laughed timidly, straightening up.

Leto maintained his posture and nodded, that hood still hiding the elf's most amazing, tell-tale green eyes. "Please. After you."

Not wanting to press the elf by refusing the kindness he hoped was brought on by friendship and not duty – Garrett climbed onto the swinger easily, planting his weight on the far side. Before Leto had a chance to climb all the way on unassisted, Garrett offered a bandaged hand.

And then he saw a frown, as Leto bypassed the offer, settling down just as easily across the large circular platform.

"I'm fine." Garrett offered; another lie, but Leto didn't need to know that. "Doesn't even hurt."

Leto nodded faintly.

But with his back to the single lantern, his handsome face was completely dark, leaving Garrett wanting.

That wouldn't do.

In a quick, bold motion, meant to be playful, Garrett divested Leto of the hood.

Moon finally high enough in the sky, its cool silver light was cast ungraciously upon Leto's face. He could have kicked himself when he realized he'd been blatantly thoughtless as to the reasons the elf might have worn it in the first place.

And squinting a sympathetic eye, he hadn't intended to strip the elf to bear witness to the extent of his injuries, but that's exactly what he'd done.

A long gash on his forehead under the dark, uneven slices of hair, a cheek bruised; even hours after the fact, it remained inflamed, and Garrett could see purple blooming underneath. A clotted, split lip, a nasty scrape on a sculpted chin.

"Oh, Leto." Garrett breathed, somewhere between shock and blinding rage. "What did he -"

Delicate hands rushed to draw the fabric over his head again, but Garrett stopped them, his own ungainly hands clenching tightly around the slight wrists.

Leto sucked in a surprised breath, and Garrett, who had been too busy seeing red to notice he had committed a slight infraction himself, released the elf abruptly.

Though, the action had stopped Leto from hiding his face again, but Garrett would have almost preferred to let him alone instead of grab him like that. By laying his hands on the elf in anger – whether it was directed at Leto or not – he was no better than Danarius.

It was no excuse for what he'd just done, but his emotions were magnified whenever the elf was around him, in any capacity, that Garrett hadn't realized how overwhelming they were until they began to manifest themselves physically. And that was definitely not like him.

Silence settled in around them until Leto spoke, almost in a whisper, thick with concern.

"Are _you_ alright?"

He blinked, then gaped incredulously. The innocent question almost re-summoned his anger and that Leto could ask about him while he just sat there so calmly with his poor abused face was nearly too much.

"I'm fine!" His own voice loud in his ear, before he had the mind to continue quietly. "I can't believe you're asking if _I'm_ okay when you... well..." Lifting a shaky hand to the elf's swollen face, Garrett frowned when he jerked back instinctively. However, as in all things, Garrett didn't let himself be discouraged.

Finding a small run of unmolested skin down the elf's jawline, he stroked it slowly with his fingertips, marvelling at the smoothness. Dark pupils edged out the green of Leto's eyes, the sight inspiring his heart to become a light, pittering mess relocated somewhere at the base of his throat. If he had closed his eyes, Garrett wouldn't be able to tell what part of the elf he'd been touching; the skin still so smooth and unbroken; all the damage under the pale surface as his touch ghosted over the swollen flesh of Leto's cheek. There was no harsh human stubble, no hair at all in fact, just soft silkiness.

"This isn't the first time I've been _corrected_ by Danarius." He muttered. "I'm sure it won't be the last."

Garrett voiced his dismay in the form of a disgusted exhale through his nose, face scrunching.

But Leto laughed, though it was dark. "It's fine."

It _wasn't _fine! "He's a mage, yet he doesn't even bother to _heal_ you after..." Garrett bit back the last part assuming his trailed off thought was ripe enough with inference. If Danarius wouldn't bother to heal a slave after forcing himself on him, then he supposed the Magister wouldn't _ever_ heal one.

"But _you_ refused to be healed with magic," began Leto, perhaps a little strongly "and since a blood mage's... _talent_ comes from the sacrifice of blood..." his voice diminished as his thought ended. "I would prefer that no one else need make a sacrifice for my sake."

That made sense enough, but it didn't seem as though Danarius would care about what Leto wanted in the first place, leaving Leto without a choice whether or not he was healed by the blood of another. "But he _beat_ you, Leto."

"I know. I was there."

"So was I!" Garrett blurted out from behind gritted teeth, instantly regretting his accidental confession.

_Dammit. Why can't I just keep my fool mouth shut?_

If he hadn't had it before, _that _comment had attracted Leto's rapt attention.

"I was..." he dropped his head to gaze upon his fidgeting fingers. "...behind the door. Listening. I'm sorry I didn't help you. I wanted to explain it wasn't your fault about the hound, but my father told me to keep my nose out of it."

"The hound? What do you mean?"

"Danarius, I mean, wasn't he upset because of the hound?"

"No."

"But then why did he...?" Garrett shook his head in thought, but then caught the way Leto looked down reflexively at his wounded hands. "What?" A pause in his head; a beat of his heart allowed him the moment he needed to come to the horrible realization.

Did Leto take that beating for _him_?

Was it all his fault that Leto sat before him now, his fair skin marred and injured? Why did it even matter to Danarius if he got hurt during the encounter? Surely he didn't care about some talentless Fereldan boy...

Every time he ran into the elf he was given more reasons to hate the Magister that held the proverbial leash. Inside he was seething, but his voice didn't ring out true; just banal and _tired._ "I didn't even get hurt."

Leto's soft, thin hands slid harmlessly under his own; cupping them; graciously accepting their weight.

"What's some..."

Garrett trailed off, swallowing thickly at the simple touch, his fingers and palms throbbing, but not from the lacerations that covered them. _This _he felt was much more complicated than wounds, though he suspected that if he was not careful he'd be wounded more deeply than anyone could ever heal.

As was customary around Leto, his voice seemed to evaporate. "... stupid splinters...?"

Fine elven fingertips glided over wrapped knuckles and the back of his hand, down his wrist before moving back; the movement both relaxing and arousing. They sat there like that for a moment, skin soothing over skin like an apology.

"I've been trying not to look at your face." Leto commented quietly, still avoiding Garrett's curiously drawn expression.

What an odd admission.

Why wouldn't he be wanting to look at his face? Was there something wrong with it? Did he find it offensive? He knew he wasn't particularly attractive, but he didn't think he was hideous either. Though, it wasn't the first time he'd wondered why Leto never met his eyes.

He wanted very much to question the elf as to the intent behind the statement, but the question died in his throat.

Partially because Leto was unwrapping his hands, freeing them of the red speckled bandages.

And partially because Leto was touching him so casually.

Watching as the long strips fell away from his swollen palms and into his lap, he could feel the breath in his chest compress.

"Don't move."

Garrett looked up to see Leto slipping off the hanger and past where the light fell. Grasses rustling gently met his ear, the touch of light footprints parting them as they came closer; back to him and their intimate spot. Anything beyond Leto and beyond the small safe haven of the gazebo didn't matter; the scenery around them falling away into nothing.

One practiced hand steadied the hanger and the other gripped a few darkly coloured leaves as the elf climbed back atop it. Kneeling gracefully as he always did, Leto took up one of Garrett's hands in his own, and with the other, placed a leaf into his mouth. Still holding the stem between his fingertips, Garrett couldn't help but stare as those plush lips pursed slightly. Taking the leaf out of his mouth, he laid it across the top of the torn flesh of Garrett's palm.

Another leaf passed into the elf's mouth, and Garrett couldn't help but remember the moist warmth he'd felt from Leto in that dream he'd had nearly a whole day ago. Well, the moist warmth he _assumed_ would be hiding; waiting to be explored. And oh how Garrett wouldn't let an inch of it go unmapped.

Leto had a beautifully shaped mouth, even in spite of the wound dissecting it. Actually, Leto was just beautifully shaped in general...

Pulling his mind away from the thought of Leto's bare body, he blinked away the form in his mind, not ready to relive that yet. It remained on the edge of his memory though, not quite willing to disappear.

And once all of the hurts were covered with the saliva soaked leaves, Leto re-wrapped the hand perfectly, leaving Garrett feeling _cared for_ and too enthralled to move.

As Leto gave the other hand the same treatment, Garrett allowed his eyes to close and focus on the sensations so pleasantly assaulting him.

Breathing in therapeutically, he focused on the pleasant tingle that overtook his already treated hand, because if he watched Leto work for a second longer, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold back from pouncing on the boy. It was a thin line he tread.

"Does it hurt?"

Garrett shook his head slightly. Nothing hurt at the moment. He felt better than he had since he arrived.

With the other hand cupped expertly, the cooling wet of the first leaf soothed his throbbing hand, and somewhere after that, he heard the sound of Leto's tongue working – though barely over the surge of blood behind his ears.

Once, when Garrett peeked out from under heavy lids to watch Leto, those green eyes rolled upward to regard the silent patient. The blond coughed awkwardly and glanced away, heat surging to his cheeks.

It was almost painful how much emotion swelled in Garrett's whole body. His heart aching with compassion, his hands tingling from touch, throat dry, tension gathering down in his vital regions.

_Of course._

Apparently they had to be involved in everything, which both intrigued and infuriated young Hawke. He didn't want Leto to just be an object of a sexual design – apparently he already, _unwillingly_, filled that role for someone else. He was undeniably attracted to the servant, but that wasn't everything. There were things about Leto, if they had met under different circumstances, that Garrett would have been able to appreciate more if they were able to be completely open with each other and not under the watchful eye of the mansion, Danarius, Hadriana, or his father.

He wanted to know so much about the other boy, but when it came down to it, he'd not been able to ask a single burning question.

His eyes slipped shut again and he breathed in deeply, expecting the heavy night air, but instead, he was assaulted by something _else_.

This time, peeking out of a single eyelid, he saw Leto's head bowed, hovering over his work, perhaps getting a closer look, definitely inside of Garrett's personal space.

Dipping his own head a little lower, inches above Leto's somewhat wild locks, he inhaled again, long and slow.

He'd remember that scent the rest of his days.

In fact, the forgotten vial that held the scent born of the thick stuff inside it was still tucked away in his boot. Though, he didn't feel much like parting with it. He hoped that selfish little action of his didn't land Leto into more hot water, though. He'd risk the embarrassment he'd face if was caught with the item, but in no way, shape or form, did he ever want Leto to suffer for him ever again.

_Less bad, more good._ He chided himself.

Relevant thoughts trickled out with the tide of his memories leaving more pleasant ones behind.

Like in the baths with Leto's hands on him; so unlike anything he'd ever felt. There was so much patience and care in those hard working hands, obviously thorough in everything._ Almost_ every part of his body was sinfully relaxed while Leto washed his hair for him; that other traitorous part between his legs, and the feelings it summoned, would remain on the back burner of his mind.

_That _part of his anatomy wasn't required, nor even _desired_ for a successful friendship.

Right out of the gate, and for some reason unknown to him, Garrett's main priority was to capture Leto's favour. And earlier on that day when Leto and he fought side by side, he came to realize that he _trusted_ the other boy. He wasn't one to withhold trust if he thought someone might deserve it – and Leto most certainly did he reckoned – though he was also not one to trust so easily.

And before he knew it, Leto had won _his_ favour.

Garrett found himself not questioning what the older boy was doing; accepting everything as it came, as long as it did come. He _wanted _the touch of the other boy; coveted it. It was one of the most unnerving things he learned about himself over the last few days.

He still had so many questions about _everything_.

_But..._

Garrett yawned.

He needed desperately to recharge; these last days seeming like a strange, wonderful, dangerous, sensual dream. As unreal and incredible as it may have been, without sleep, he felt he might die. Maybe after some proper time with a pillow he'd see things a whole lot differently; and admittedly a whole lot more accurately... though he wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.

The movements around his hands stopped, and Garrett opened his sluggish eyes to see Leto's head dip deeper.

With an almost audible gulp, if Garrett hadn't been so relaxed, he would have probably scrambled away from the figure leaning in toward his crotch.

He wasn't sure what filth he had been thinking, but twin kisses were laid chastely upon each palm, the very slight pressure of Leto's lips all he felt as they were bestowed.

"Leave the bandages on until noon tomorrow." The substitute healer instructed.

Garrett nodded weakly, feeling quite stupid, glad his voice had long since departed.

He was unbearably sleepy now, muscles loose and warm and pliant. Wavering slightly as he sat, he felt Leto's arms around him, guiding him. The back of his head met with a soft, cushy surface, familiar fingertips carding through his caramel strands, soothing him; lulling him.

Head fuzzy, Garrett managed to open his eyes to witness Leto's face descending on his. And as Leto's lips met the middle of his forehead, Garrett's eyes closed for the last time that evening.

When he died, he wanted whatever came after to be just like this.


	4. Calculated Risk

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for your patience! This chapter did NOT come easily... and I dunno why. Anyway, it's here now! Yay! Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing! You all are fabulous. Torn trousers for everyone!  
><em>

__Warnings for slash, Pervy!Danarius (does he come in any other flavour?), bad language, some other questionable stuff, and angsty teenage hormones.__

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><p><strong><span>Day Four<span>**

**o-o**

Garrett stirred, waking just as the sunrise began to paint its blaze as a thin line on the horizon.

His mind felt sharp from the moment he sat up on the pendulous sleeper, eyes not weary and gritty as they had been since arriving in this strange part of Thedas. Sweet, blissful, uninterrupted sleep had taken hold of his ravaged body; how many hours ago he couldn't be sure... but it was fabulous.

Stretching, hands above him, he squeezed and flexed them, testing the feeling of the hidden flesh. They felt better, even if they were still a bit numb. It was surprising, considering the injuries he'd sustained manifested with both pain, that he stubbornly denied, and an ambient sort of burning after he unthinkingly used them.

Another stretch, this one forward, and he felt something gathered at his waist; the top of it dampened with dew. Holding it up to get a good look at it in the leftover dark, Garrett smiled as it unfurled.

Leto's cloak.

It was fashioned from a fine but sturdy fabric, the hem that ran the entire length and breadth actually a complex embroidered binding.

Experimentally, he raised the cloak to his nose and sniffed it, and jerked back, memories swirling in his mind.

_Maker, it smells like him._

That woody scent, the slightly musky smell of masculinity and – Garrett sniffed again, deeper. There was an undertone of floral.

Those white flowers Leto had been gathering that he'd seen in Danarius' study. Their heavy bouquet was unmistakable.

Looking around him in an almost paranoid gesture, and only once he was satisfied that he was alone, he held it against his chest and buried his nose in it's folds as a child might cuddle a cherished scrap of fabric. He'd probably have to give _this _item back, he lamented. But for now, it was his.

Garrett smiled, a little too wide for his dry, idle lips.

He felt good.

No, he felt _great._ And it was all thanks to Leto.

He would have loved to have just hunkered back down into the bedding beneath him and sleep until he leisurely felt like getting up, but he figured that he'd better get back to the mansion before anyone missed him and he had to explain where he'd slept. He didn't want to inadvertently out anyone, after all.

Garrett and Leto's physiques were very different, but the dark grey cloak fit nicely around his shoulders. He had no words for the pleasant tingle he felt in his entire body knowing the secrets of the last few days. He'd not tell anyone anything; the idea of keeping every word; every action to himself was thrilling and satisfying.

Fleet of foot, Garrett escaped the gardens without being discovered, and snuck back into the house without incident... until he rounded the corner to the corridor that lead to his room.

Hadriana was standing at the end of it, dressed in a scant peignoir, breasts nearly spilling over the neckline; the material almost sheer; quiet as the dead and still, those judging blue eyes boring into his soul. They took in his figure thoroughly as he descended the hall and that was all it took for her face to change, smug and knowing, lingering on the cloak with the unique embroidered edging draped over his big human frame.

Neither of them formally recognized each others presence, but he knew how it must have looked for him to be sneaking back to his room cloaked in the fabric of the Magister's favoured slave. Still, he regarded her coolly, his own amber eyes belaying confidence he simply didn't possess as his heart thumped nervously against his ribs.

The creak of the heavy wooden door was a welcome noise, and, slipping quietly inside, he could almost _feel_ her watching him. Once he was out of sight behind the barrier, he pressed his back against it and breathed out; long and slow and shaky.

Garrett was still unsure how to take Hadriana – but he figured that she was the type to prey on weakness, turning it around and using it as effectively as any blade. It was a good thing that Garrett was strong in body and mind; he didn't have anything to fear from Hadriana, and he sure as hell didn't have any weaknesses she could take advantage of.

Undressing down to his shorts, he knew the household wouldn't stir until at least sun up. An extra hour or two of sleep wouldn't hurt him. Crossing the room, he took the curtains in hand and poised to flick them closed to deny the daylight, but as he did, Garrett thought about Leto and what he'd done to help him; the fuzzy warmth spreading in his stomach.

Garrett left the curtains open.

He wanted the sun to wake him; wanted to know the moment the day began if it were to contain even a second of Leto's company.

* * *

><p>As expected, and as a thin sunbeam beat down on his sleeping face, Malcolm came to wake him.<p>

With an enthusiastic stretch and grunt of satisfaction, Garrett sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Someone's in a good mood today. It only took me one try to wake you up."

He'd been a little disappointed to not have woken up with Leto still stroking his hair, but that would have been too must to ask, and he knew it. The knowledge that it hadn't been a dream was good enough for now. Though, he wasn't about to tell his father all that, and Garrett waved a bandaged hand dismissively. "Just slept well is all."

"Good. You looked like the walking dead these past couple days."

"Did I really look that bad...?" he murmured, more to himself than anything, running a hand over his days old beard. He could use a shave at least. He knew that elves didn't grow facial hair... His eyes glanced over at the grey garment, edged in gold, hooked on a thin wooden cloak rack near the door, and all of a sudden he was overcome with curiosity about whether or not _Leto_ would like his beard.

"I've never known you to care." he father commented casually.

Tabling the thought, he looked up at Malcolm and shrugged noncommittally. "I don't."

His father nodded. "Come to the dining room to break fast when you're prepared. Danarius and I are taking a trip into the city this afternoon. Minrathous' markets are famous the world over for their unique trade goods. I used to take your mother all the time before you were born."

"To the city? This afternoon?" Garrett's excitement got the best of him, running away with his imagination, not to mention his hopes. Maybe Danarius would leave Leto behind! He would seek out the servant and monopolize his time while his Master was away, and they could do all manner of things! He wanted to know so much about the elf, wanted to trade stories and speak of any topic as long as they were speaking; as long as he could _listen_ to Leto speak. Maybe they could even spar if Leto was feeling up to it, or perhaps he might show him the finer points of -

"Though, Danarius seems very keen on bringing you along I'm afraid."

His imagination halted abruptly, narrowed eyes tracking his father's path to the plush chair by the desk in his room.

"But, I don't _want_ to go -" His objection to the plan came out a bit too whiny for his taste, but his father cut him off before any more of it could be heard.

"Your new friend will be accompanying the Magister and myself."

His frown disappeared. "Leto...?"

"Mmhm..." Malcolm crossed his legs and rubbed the pad of his index finger on the smooth desktop. "But... if you don't _want_ to go..." he teased, mimicking Garrett's earlier tone "I _could_ tell Danarius that you're not feeling well again today."

The teenager all but leapt off the bed, grin plastered on his face, no trace of the former grievance. "Lots to see at the market, right? When do we leave?"

"As soon as you get dressed and get something in your belly."

"Well, I'll take my morning meal in the bath then!"

His father raised an eyebrow, but couldn't hide a tone of entertained frustration when he said Garrett's name reproachfully.

"Kidding! I was kidding."

_Sort of._ Garrett added mentally.

Rummaging through his chaotic, half-unpacked trunk for some fresh smalls, he sniffed the first pair he picked up and began to pull the ones he wore off.

"What is this?"

Spinning around, the underwear half off his hip, he saw his father examining Leto's bottle. A couple long strides allowed him to snatch the vial from Malcolm's hand, protectively clenching his bandaged fist around it. Maybe he shouldn't have left such a thing out in the open like that. With Hadriana standing outside his room this morning, he knew that anyone could enter the suite at anytime whether he was present or not. In fact, servants often did, bringing fresh jugs of water in and new linens for the bed.

He was more vulnerable than he thought.

And discoveries of a sensitive nature might end up badly for more than one party.

"It's a bottle."

"I can see that. Where did you get it?"

"I... found it."

His father seemed genuinely curious, but the conversation was a waste of time. Garrett wasn't about to give him any ammunition for later sessions of teasing.

"What's in it?"

"I don't know. It's an old bottle." he shrugged nonchalantly and remembered the underwear in his hand. "Are you really gonna stand around and watch me get naked or do I get some privacy?"

"Right. Well, then." His father set the bottle down where it had been, and headed to the door. "Don't dawdle, son." He teased, closing the door just in time to block the dirty underwear Garrett flung.

* * *

><p>Danarius' favourite form of transport seemed to be a roomy horse-drawn caravan, and early in the afternoon, the four, along with a young human driver, set off for Minrathous. If Garrett hadn't been able to feel every bump on the road, he would have sworn that he was in one of Danarius' parlours. It was narrower, of course, but it was dressed richly in fluttering silks just like the others. There was a lack of illumination inside, but the light of the relentless Imperium sun through the dark silks provided all that was needed without making the temperature in the carriage unbearable.<p>

In fact, the only thing that _was _unbearable was having to watch his abused elven friend cool that bastard Magister with a huge wooden fan. It was exotic; some design Garrett was not familiar with; of fine quality and painted with a whimsical floral illustration that reached over every slat. Leto's arms barely worked, the long, lithe muscles fluttering gently as he repeated the same motion hundreds of times before they'd even arrived in the city limits. The sleeveless style of his tight fitting tunic was a pleasant change from the billowy shift he normally wore around the mansion; leaving almost nothing to the imagination as it clung attractively to his thin, boyish build.

As chatter filled the interior, he managed to catch Leto's eye, smiling at the slave despite his rather demeaning task. Leto's smile, in reply, did not belay any feelings about his station or his chore; it was unguarded. Standing slightly behind the Magister afforded Leto a little privacy to show such obvious affection.

Leto was handsome, but he was downright desirable when he had a smile on his face, even though it was battered, pouty split lips and all.

These past few days saw Leto much more approachable than he had been before, and Garrett rather liked the change. He'd even practically spent the night with the elf!

Still, he wasn't really any farther along in his quest to get to _know _the other boy. Their conversations had been brief thus far, but Garrett was thankful for what time of Leto's he had managed to claim for his own.

Glancing down at his healed hands, he turned them over, flexing and popping his loose joints.

He'd removed the bandages earlier after breaking fast with a light meal of bread, fruit, and shy glances at Leto. With a stop in his apartment while the others made their way to the stables, Garrett grabbed his forgotten coin pouch with gusto, the complete lack of pain in his hands suggesting that the bandages were most likely unnecessary. So before he left, he unwound the strips of cloth, taking the still fragrant leaves with them. Palms clean thanks to a basin of fresh wash water on a side table in his room, he was in awe over the undamaged flesh; the only evidence of the former wounds were the red lines where the tears were knitted together by new skin. Prodding them, he found them slightly tender; the new skin more sensitive than the rest.

Whatever Leto had done the night before saved him from the handicap of his injuries and the pain of healing down the road; all without magic. At least Garrett believed it was without the aid of magic; he'd not heard Leto murmuring any spells or incantations. That knowledge made the feeling of gratitude in his chest swell with added awe.

Peeking out from the tops of his lids, he spied Leto watching his little self-examination as he fanned away, and offered the elf a thankful nod.

From the moment he first saw Leto, he knew the elf was something else; something special, but now he was sure that Leto was so much more than he ever thought possible.

Leto bowed his head slightly in response; and if he hadn't been watching, Garrett would have missed the gesture completely. It was then that Garrett realized he enjoyed their wordless exchanges _almost_ as much as their regular interactions. The only thing he really missed was the mesmerizing depth of his friend's voice; deep and masculine and somehow almost too alluring for Garrett's weak constitution.

It wasn't just Leto's physical features and other brilliant attributes that constantly set his heart a flutter like some bashful kid, but it was the other boy's mere presence. He had to admit that being in the same room with Leto also made him a little protective.

He'd truly never felt this way about anyone before. What an amazing feeling it was to want to protect, adore, and just downright enjoy someone else.

Just as he began to bask in the pleasure of that, the carriage came to a slow stop; Leto folding the fan as Danarius stood.

As they disembarked, Danarius spoke about the market and how the Hawkes would enjoy it, but Garrett stayed quiet, preferring to not even interact with the man, letting his charismatic father do all the talking.

Which he did.

And once past huge gates that the four had to cross on foot, the marketplace was revealed to them. Jam packed with mostly tanned Minrathian faces, Garrett was stunned, stopping to survey the sight before him.

Booths as far as his eye could see were lined with exotic wares, children darting in and out of currents of people – probably pickpocketing some poor sods while they were at it – and women traversed the crowds with baskets of exotic fruit strapped to their chests in a bid to create some interest that would net some income. People were shouting in various tongues, some bartering, some laughing as they conversed too loudly with others, mothers scolding children for getting lost in the shuffle. Vendors pedalled their wares; a variety of folk; mostly humans, one Qunari, and a few surface dwarves as far as he could tell.

Garrett _almost _regretted tagging along; a sheen of sweat covered nearly everyone's face loaning the crowd a distinctly _moist_ look. He wasn't a fan of hot – and it _was _a typical stifling day – but he guessed he'd be even less of a fan of the odour he knew that crowd was most likely emitting.

The flush of heat blooming on Leto's cheeks, however, was enticing. He would have been delighted to stand too close to the elf, the heat passing between them condensing on their skin; sweat intermingling...

But Garrett would be revolted to touch anyone else.

Thankfully he didn't have to. The masses of people seemed to part as the Magister and his guests meandered through the wide, cobbled passages. Garrett wondered if it was simple coincidence until he realized that no one was looking _at_ Danarius as he passed. If they weren't turned around, they had bowed heads. It was all very creepy. The old mage didn't appear to notice anyone's behaviour as he spoke to Garrett's father, but everyone else did; Leto seemed used to it, but was wary of the crowd – which Garrett didn't find surprising.

Lingering at a booth gave Garrett a few moments to watch the hustle and bustle. He was never very good at navigating through or interacting with large groups of people, but he was good at watching them; sizing them up; noticing the unnoticed undercurrent of the every changing face of the place.

There was a silent wife, arms crossed over her chest as her otherwise bored husband watched the crowd as Garrett did. But instead of innocently observing, he seemed to be leering at women; any woman; that passed before him. The naughty grin on his face when he saw something he fancied gave way to a slow frown when he realized that his wife had turned away from the goods at the counter to witness her balding husband's bad behaviour. Garrett figured they must have been married for some time, because there was no exchange of words; just a squinted promise of pain from his weighty wife's eyes. Obviously he didn't feel the need to defend himself; he'd probably been caught doing it a million times.

Garrett chuckled.

At another counter, a couple of pretty girls were examining some clothing. Garrett guessed they might have been more than friends as they sifted through the fabrics, holding them up against each others frames, hands tracing curves over the garments, lingering and brushing; an innocent cup of breast or squeeze of hip followed by an airy giggle. His own hands twitched, remembering Leto's creamy smooth flesh, as he watched them caress one another.

Not wanting to let his eyes, nor his mind, linger on equal parts desirable and unattainable scenarios, he looked back to the silent married couple he'd seen before. She was turned away from him giving him the cold shoulder, and though his face was tilted dutifully toward the dusty ground, his eyes still worked the crowd carefully.

Garrett chuckled again.

_Dirty old man._

Mostly, the time passed with Garrett glancing wistfully at Leto as the group made their way from stall to stall browsing; the adults chatting. Once he noticed a fleeting look of boredom on the elf's face, he quickly fell prey to it as well, even going so far as to cover a yawn with his hand.

The wares became monotonous; Garrett only taking the time to browse every other vendor, and he wasn't as interested in the sweaty population anymore; the heat rapidly eroding his attention span.

Still with a pouch full of untouched silver coins, Garrett's attention ebbed until he saw _it_; all the way from the other side of the cobbled alley.

_It_ was a treasure dangling from a long horizontal wire, the length of the stall, surrounded by many other baubles and trinkets swaying gently in the breeze that chased through the marketplace. Mesmerized by the glint that first caught his eye as it twisted slowly round and round, Garrett found himself leaning in toward it. Silver and smooth and flawless, script flowing around the outside in an unknown language may have been indication as to what the symbol in the middle was. Smaller in circumference than the tip of his thumb and index finger when joined, he wasn't sure _why_ he'd been drawn to it; just that he was.

"Excuse me!" he called to the merchant to get his attention "This medallion." Draping the item in question over his large palm he told the man he'd take it.

After a short barter – another thing which Garrett was not very good at – he handed over most of the silver in his purse and held the piece up towards the sun, glittering. He wasn't sure why he'd been so wrapped up in it – the inscription could have said anything; the symbol something unholy or evil, but as he watched it twirl lazily, it felt like something of value even if it realistically had very little.

Maybe because, for some reason, it reminded him of Leto.

Curling his fist lightly around the talisman, Garrett grinned to himself as he made his way back across the market square to where Danarius and his father were standing at a booth beside an alley, speaking to what appeared to be another mage. Leto was standing off to the side, hands behind his back, keeping his head from lingering too long in one pose, turning it deeper to the side to hide his injuries when the odd passer-by looked at him for more than a moment. Few took notice of him; only a female servant and a child Garrett noted, but Leto's head was still hung lower than usual. That made his heart ache a little, and he clutched the gift tighter.

He wanted to see Leto smile.

The constant hum of the crowd and the odd shout made it unnecessary for Garrett to have to sneak around, so Garrett carefully waded through the current of people to Leto's back, and slipped the piece inside his cupped elvan hands, resting against the small of his back.

Instantly Leto's hand locked around the item, capturing Garrett's lingering fingertips in the process. The simple touch, Leto's skin tacky and cool where the sweat slicked over it, along with the thrill of risk, sent Garrett's heart rate soaring and he could feel his face colour. He had thought to whisper in Leto's ear to tell him it was he who had come up behind him, but he didn't relish the thought of getting caught in the act.

Grunting and anxious, unfamiliar expressions muttered behind him caught his attention just as someone, who had been causing a commotion in the mass of people, created a sort of domino effect around him, knocking bodies into one another. Garrett, just barely on the outskirts of the jostling, was forced to take a staggered step into Leto's back, catching their hands between them, rubbing very low against Garrett's stomach.

And then too many things happened at once, and Garrett was left reeling.

The pressure of his palm against Leto's, the trinket trapped inside, his free hand somehow latched low on the small elf's hip to keep himself from toppling over, the intimate smell of Leto's dark hair, the feel of his skin, the warmth of his body; different from the unrelenting sun.

Lightheaded from the wash of sensation, Garrett closed his eyes, that eager hand tightening on Leto's hip.

It had been so innocent; the simple feeling of excitement in wanting to present Leto with a token of his affection, even if what Garrett felt wasn't destined to be given life by word or voice.

But with the intimate pressing of their bodies it twisted into something else, more than just the little bit of naughty teenage hormone he'd been forced to endure of late.

The dirty blond's tongue poked from between tightly drawn lips.

Maker how he wanted to taste the pale skin of Leto's neck, and it was right there in front of him.

_So close. _

He could have dipped his head to sample that gently pulsing point with the very tip, or if he was brave, the firm flat of his tongue.

Would the tip of his ear taste different than the sensitive skin at the base of it, or the little bump at the back of his neck?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Garrett knew he'd do just about anything to please Leto. He wondered if Leto would have wanted it that way; wondered if he would be the elf's slave if given a chance. He wondered if they would sample each other, or if Leto would permit him to simply explore at his leisure, learning what might bring a sweet gasp of pleasure or a pant of desperate need.

Before meeting Leto, he hadn't considered men in that way; but if it was his handsome elf, he found he couldn't, or perhaps _didn't_ _want to_, stop himself.

He was aching hard in what felt like an instant, even been before Leto's gentle hand was, most certainly, cupping the outline of his length straining against his trousers. The realization wasn't fuzzy and hot like the rest of his incomplete, underdeveloped desires, it was cool and sharp, and when it came down over him, he began to twitch inside his smalls uncontrollably.

Hand drawing the elf's lean frame closer, to press the body tighter against his own, Garrett nearly drowned in the intense need Leto was drawing up from somewhere deep inside him.

He wanted to take the elf into his arms and hold him there, never let him go, and show him all the ways his body yearned for him. He wanted to never let anyone hurt him ever again. No one; not Hadriana, nor Danarius.

_That son of a bitch._

Garrett wanted to be greedy and touch Leto everywhere he'd seen Danarius touch him, taste him to erase the trails of memories the greying man left behind. With his tongue and his lips, he'd purge the violation and take it within himself to cleanse the elf.

But maybe he wasn't any better than Danarius.

When it came right down to it, he wanted to _possess _Leto. The feeling was fierce and jagged and dark, snapping through his body like a slavers whip, and just as frightening. But it was maddening, nearly being brought to his knees under the weight of the lust he bore. No matter what he told himself, how chivalrous he was in his mind, an overwhelming part of him longed for the pleasures of Leto's flesh.

But that encouraging fondle – the wicked hand still not applying enough pressure – _couldn't _have been an accident; squeezing _just so_.

The young Fereldan was nearly too far gone, the loss of blood to his head controlling the ever advancing swell of his groin. And if that teasing touch didn't stop, Garrett was scared he'd come right there in the middle of the Minrathous market, in broad daylight.

"Thank you for your business, Magister Danarius."

Eyes opening in surprise, suddenly too aware of their surroundings, Garrett yanked his hands away from Leto's body, but only was able to pull away the one on his hip. The other Leto held fast behind his back, and Garrett felt the pendant slip from their grasp only to be stopped with a little jerk as it dangled at the end of the leather strip.

Hands still bound together by laced fingers, the amulet hanging between them, Leto bowed subserviently as Danarius advised him that they were done at the merchant, seemingly oblivious to the moment that had just taken place between the young men.

Garrett coughed, free hand politely over his mouth to disguise the heavy inhale he needed to keep him standing upright and the world from spinning.

And Malcolm didn't even look at him funny before turning to accompany Danarius a few paces ahead of the two boys. Quickly snatching up the pendant, he pushed it into Leto's hand just as Leto freed him from his grasp. Breathing easier, but mentally brow-beating his erection down to an acceptable level, he stepped into stride beside the elf, who finally spared him a wry smile.

And the feeling of teenage awkwardness returned as Garrett's breath was stolen anew.

* * *

><p>The marketplace covered a huge expanse of land, and as it was, they had been walking around all afternoon, leaving Garrett uncomfortably sticky and damp. Nothing could ruin his mood though. He felt indescribable, like he was untouchable; indestructible. The feeling was addictive, but he kept himself from flirting with the edge of true desire as it had come to him a short while ago. It was too raw and too untested within him. He wasn't even sure where the line was and if he'd be able to stop himself from crossing it. Still, airs had to be kept up; appearances neat and innocent. So, in moving from place to place, Leto and Garrett held the standard respectful distance behind the older men, but occasionally, when one of them had to sidestep around something, the backs of their hands rubbed, or touch, or brushed against one another, inciting a little tingle that crept up his arm at each instance.<p>

Neither of them spoke, and Garrett was nearly at the end of his patience not having heard a word from Leto since the night before. He was also not used to the stinging need that worried upon the ever loosening strings of his self-control, and Garrett could no longer stop himself from wanting to hear Leto speak.

Leto never uttered more than a few words in the presence of the Magister, and he guessed that that had been the way things were, but with a voice like that, _he_ never wanted for the elf to _stop_ talking.

So, when Danarius and his father approached the shack of a ruddy, tattoo-faced dwarf, and the Magister bid Leto and Garrett to wait outside, Garrett took the opportunity to usher Leto out of the line of sight and into a lengthening afternoon shadow on the lee side of the hut.

At first, right around the time his confidence waned, all he could do was gawk at the handsome elf whose back was pressed against the rather rudimentary brick and straw wall. Unlike last night when Garrett's mouth had dried up and his tongue got all twisted, Leto didn't help him out or supply any easy start. But this time he knew what he wanted.

"D-do you like it?"

...Though he could have been just a _little_ more suave with his questioning; the stutter announcing his nervousness.

Reaching inside the tight chest of his tunic, Leto pulled on the smooth suede cord, wrapping it loosely around his fingers until the medallion dangled in front of his eyes. Looking at it, he was strangely silent, his face unreadable.

"I'm sorry." Leto whispered, lowering his hand. "I cannot accept this."

Eyes wide, that was not what he had expected to hear from Leto and Garrett felt his heart come to a grinding halt in his chest. "Why?"

"Everything I have has been given to me by my Master."

"What does that matter?"

Leto smiled slightly, maybe sadly.

"I am my Master's slave." he explained "I am not worthy of gifts from another's hands."

"But, you are!" objected Garrett, lifting his fingertips to touch Leto's bruised face, which he tried to turn away from Garrett's tender touch. "You're so much more than a slave. You deserve more than..." he couldn't bring himself to utter that disgusting name anymore. "..._him_."

"Don't-"

But Garrett continued on, not heeding Leto's objection. "And you are _worthy_ of so much more than just this silly trinket."

"It's not silly!" insisted Leto with a stubborn frown, suddenly pressing into Garrett's touch; his voice a sort of choked whisper, clutching the engraved silver his hand.

And Garrett smiled, that tone unexpected after his initial refusal of the gift. It was so conflicted; so discordant that it gave him a little hope. Something was getting under Leto's skin, and he hoped it was for better and not worse. But ultimately, Garrett was prepared to leave it lying on the ground if Leto had truly wished to return it; along with the pieces of his heart. The gift only had meaning because Leto held _some_ feelings toward Garrett, however unclear they might have been.

"Does that mean you'll keep it?"

Leto looked at him for a quiet moment, leaving Garrett to wonder if his newly beating heart was going to bust his eardrums from the inside.

"Would you hate me if I said no?" Leto's accent curled around the flirtatious lilt in his voice, and Garrett found some courage to take Leto's closed fist in his palm to open it, revealing the glinting medallion once again.

"You won't." he whispered in reply, sure now that it was true.

Pinching the heavy medallion between his fingertips, the drag of Leto's delicate hand followed the motion; trailing upwards as he raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the faintly cool metal, staring boldly into Leto's shaded green eyes.

Raising up just enough for Garrett to tell that he was standing on his tip toes, Leto's bound hand wrapped around Garrett's thick wrist to steady himself as he pressed his own lavish lips to the other side of the token.

And Garrett's mind went blank, feeling just the overflowing sides of Leto's lips against his, the metal heating instantly between their mouths. Fighting to keep his eyes open against the natural weight of his inexperienced desire, he found he was also near paralysed with trepidation and nervousness.

Was this to be their first -

"Garrett."

Fluttering heart dropped like a stone in his stomach, both heads wrenched around to the voice which spoke Hawke's name.

It was his father.

A furious blush bloomed on the teen's face and he took an instinctive step away from Leto, but refused to let go of the token still between his fingertips; the boys connected by the soft strip of hide.

"Danarius is just about finished inside." he warned lowly, nodding toward the out-of-sight doorway. He'd not reveal his own feelings about the situation until they were alone, but Garrett wondered how upset Malcolm would be later.

Garrett's head sagged, any semblance of self-confidence he had completely deflated. In fact, it turned to embarrassment at having been caught in a scene that felt and must have _looked_ just as intimate to an outsider as it actually had been between the two boys.

Malcolm turned and stepped around the corner, restoring privacy though the mood was completely shattered.

This time it was Leto who approached his taller counterpart, slipping a long finger under a stubbly chin to at least meet his gaze. They didn't have much time left before they had to concede to the harsh light under which tender touches and fledgeling feelings would be betrayed if acted upon.

"You're right." breathed Leto, lifting the piece of silver from Garrett's hand, tucking it back down into his tunic where he'd originally pulled it from. "I won't say no."

It was possibly the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard Leto say, but Garrett couldn't find it within himself to smile.

* * *

><p>After their emotionally charged exchanges all afternoon, and when Garrett thought that he couldn't take anymore excitement, Danarius proclaimed they were going to the slave quarter. A panicked look flickered across Garrett's face, unsure of which of his allies to actually look at when Danarius began to lead them to where the slavers of the Imperium conducted business.<p>

"Danarius, my friend!" Greeted a rather tall man draped in expensive looking robes, crossing the small, empty courtyard they'd just crossed the threshold to. "I rarely see you at market these days."

If the eerily quiet courtyard amidst all the chaos of the market wasn't disconcerting enough, something about the man made Garrett's stomach twist.

"Greetings, Mason. Indeed, it has been some time since I browsed the wares here in Minrathous." he grinned knowingly, not helping to dispel Garrett's discomfort.

A slight sound of surprise came from the man as he eyed Leto up and down. "This was one of ours, wasn't he?"

"You are blessed with a long memory, Mason. I purchased him some time ago."

"Indeed." he hummed, obviously interested in Leto. "May I?" Danarius nodded his head, and just as he did, the other man placed his hand flat against, and far too low on, Leto's belly. Dragging it all the way up the centre of his tunic clad chest, fingertips walked up and over his chin, along Leto's jaw rigid with tension. Ending his probing with a tweak of Leto's pointy ear before he took his dirty hands off, Garrett was seething. "Leto, was it? I _never_ forget a pretty face."

But a single sideways glance from Malcolm demanded Garrett cool his temper.

"Are you in search of ..." Mason cocked an eyebrow in the group's collective direction "...merchandise this fine afternoon?"

"My fine young friend here from Fereldan-" Danarius motioned easily with his hand to a surprised Garrett "is partial to elves. So let's see what you have in stock."

"Very good." Mason bowed shallowly. "Please, this way."

Garrett looked at Leto, but the elf was not meeting his eye, his apathetic gaze fixed on Danarius' back as they began to move.

_Partial to elves..._ Garrett rolled his eyes. He was partial to only one.

Entering another huge courtyard, this one completely open to the sky, the men were motioned to sit on an ornate stone bench off to one side, and all but Leto did so. When Garrett saw him remain standing, he too went to regain his feet, but his father stopped him, hand across his strapping chest.

Ruefully, he remained seated.

It didn't take long for a line of elves, of varying features and attributes to be brought before them. Stopping and turning to the group of visitors, none of them looked up unless they were addressed, and none of them dared to say anything.

Garrett couldn't help but look them over, pity and compassion swelling in his heart. Elves were lovely creatures, and even though the seven in front of them weren't the cleanest nor the most relaxed, they still were a sight to see. All men, lithe bodies, all of short stature like Leto. Some had scars, and a couple way too young to be there; should have been with their parents or someone who would care for them as a person... not as a piece of property.

And he had to fight the urge to run. He didn't want to be here. Anywhere but here. Fighting darkspawn, or taking a final examination in his arithmetic class; doing anything anywhere else.

"Mason has the best goods in all of Minrathous" Danarius noted aloud "perhaps in all of the Imperium."

The slaver bowed before the compliment. "You honour me. Please. Examine my wares as _thoroughly_ as you wish."

Garrett's eye twitched in response to the inflection of the statement.

"I regret that I cannot take the time to sample as I so desire. My... _attention_ is required elsewhere later this evening..."

And then his stomach turned. He thought he might be sick listening to the old lechers.

Just as he looked away from the vulgar conversation, one of the slaves caught Garrett's eye. He could have been kin to Leto; dark, choppy hair, though his eyes were dark and mysterious, playing opposite to Leto's beautiful green, but the boy was much younger. Garrett guessed he couldn't have been older than his own brother, Carver; not a day older than fourteen. All the slaves on display were youthful and capable looking, but this one must have been the youngest.

A shiver ran up his spine. Elves weren't the only race sold into slavery. They were, by far, the most common in the Imperium, but the occasional human was caught and forced into the life. That boy could have been Carver.

And there were no females in the lineup.

He didn't even want to think about what the Magisters who kept slaves did to the female population. Would Danarius abuse a girl as he abused Leto?

And not seconds after thinking the Magister's name, he caught him staring, and summoned Garrett to his side.

"Come, young Hawke."

Glancing at Leto and his father before standing, both men were unreadable; his father perhaps a little cautious. And for once, Garrett was _glad_ to see his father was paying complete attention to the situation.

Forcing a swallow, he did as Danarius asked, his short strides stiff.

"What do you think, my boy? Do I need another handsome elf to add to my collection?"

Garrett had nothing to say, distracted by the look in which the boy held the Magister; expressionless except for a hint of careful interest.

Danarius didn't touch the elf, settling for having the boy turn around in a circle instead. He leered at the 'commodity', his eyes lingering over the elf's pert ass. Once turned completely, the old man leaned in to whisper near Garrett's ear. "He looks like Leto in the face, does he not?"

Garrett did not reply, not that he had time before Danarius spoke again.

"Mason. How much is this young one here?"

His eyes were stuck on the creamy complexion of the elf's face, and as Danarius inquired as to the slave's price, those dark eyes sparkled in_ excitement._

And it felt as though an arrow had pierced his heart.

Excited at the prospect of being bought? What a backwards concept.

"Forty, but for you, twenty."

"My, that is a deep discount for such a handsome lad. Is there something _wrong_ with him?"

"No, Magister." Mason replied quickly "My stock is flawless. You are my most important patron, so please examine him until you are satisfied."

Danarius continued to look the boy over, and when no more words passed into the air, he shifted his eyes to Garrett.

The elf on display followed suit, those frying pan eyes taking him in; wide and hopeful; almost pleading. But Garrett, again, had nothing to say.

"Well? Aren't you going to check him?"

Garrett blinked in confusion. "_Check_ him?"

Danarius laughed then. It was a disgusting sound, very much like when he'd heard him in the throes of forced pleasure with Leto. Bile rose in his throat.

The boy was wearing only a loin cloth, and Danarius had already turned him this way and that in a visual examination. Automatically trailing down to the square of linen hanging between the elf's legs, it was the only place left hidden to the eye.

"Lift your cloth." Danarius commanded the slave, all traces of humour gone.

Garrett couldn't look away fast enough before the eager potential purchase did as he was asked, revealing his flaccid member. Desperate amber eyes darted away, straight into those dark orbs once again, not daring to look down. The elf looked almost prideful, as if he thought he was a shoo-in.

The greying Magister leaned into Garrett's space again with undesired instruction. "Check his cock."

Garrett couldn't move, embarrassment stopping him from nearly breathing let alone 'checking' anything.

"You embarrass my boy, Danarius." Malcolm butted in gently but insistently, a jovial sort of tone to soften the objection. "Garrett much prefers _females_."

Danarius looked over his shoulder to where Malcolm sat. "Oh. Does he?" Garrett, who moved only his eyes, saw a smirk tugging at the corner of Danarius' wrinkled mouth. "Yes, that's right." he practically purred. "My mistake."

"Magister?" prompted Mason lightly.

"Ah, the boy is shy." he chuckled.

Again.

And again it made Garrett's skin crawl.

From his peripheral vision, he could see the elf drop the cloth back down to cover his genitals, and finally Garrett's eyes closed as he exhaled, stress thick in the hiss of breath through his teeth.

"That will be all for today, Mason. Thank you for a good showing."

Mason clapped his hands twice as Garrett reopened his eyes, witnessing what he could only describe as crushing disappointment splashed across the face of Leto's doppelganger. The group turned and left the room as silently as they had entered; whispers of soft soles on the hard stone.

Garrett felt helpless; as was customary. The more time he spent in the Imperium, the more convinced he was that it was a horrid place where no one had any idea of what was fair and right. In Ferelden, such 'showings' would never have taken place, and even though he'd heard the alienages were terrible places, surely they had to be better than being bought and sold as labourers... or worse.

And just then, when Garrett sought some solace in Leto's eyes, he believed there couldn't be anything worse than Leto avoiding his gaze.

But that's precisely what he did.

* * *

><p>It was a quiet, introspective ride back, and by the time they arrived at the mansion, Garrett was more than ready to be free of the jostling cabin. Since leaving Minrathous, there had been an air of tension; nothing overwhelming, but it was there, just under the surface. Humbled by the scene at the slavers, Garrett chose to keep to himself, only glancing briefly at Leto. Leto avoided his eyes as he continued his fanning duties, but Garrett caught him, more than once, fingering the low neckline of his tunic; caressing the fabric that concealed the now precious token.<p>

He was only beginning to iron out how he felt toward the older boy, and was still completely confused by Leto's behaviour toward him. Sometimes he was receptive, other times he was standoffish, but always too guarded for Garrett's liking. Generally he preferred to know what people were thinking through words or actions. Being in the dark left him feeling awkward and uncertain.

And he certainly didn't need anymore of _that_; he had plenty of both on his plate already.

Disembarking for the second time that afternoon, the older men wrapped up their discussion, and then it happened; the same thing that happened everyday, usually twice a day. It was the time when they all went their own ways.

Not just that, but as he watched Leto walk away, trailing his master with that round, subservient curve to his spine, he couldn't help but feel that Danarius was taking Leto from him. He felt like a useless, talentless, _powerless _human. Garrett Hawke may have had no claim on Leto, but he couldn't help but want to have the elf for himself; as equals, partners, friends... maybe more; whatever _that_ entailed.

He _did_ suspect that the '_maybe more_' part might have had something to do with Garrett's impulse purchase in the market, and it gave him satisfaction to know that Leto accepted and even embraced the gift.

All that seemed trite when faced with the fact that he didn't know what Danarius made Leto do behind the privacy of a closed door.

Okay, well, he _did._

His face scrunched at the imposing memories, having somehow scorched his brain, cursing his ability to recall them with crystal clarity.

Garrett simply couldn't accept that he made Leto do those degrading things _all_ the time. Surely an old man like Danarius, who could barely get it up, wouldn't be able to go everyday.

Could he?

Better to not think on it.

Though he couldn't resist considering how _he_ wouldn't have a problem in that department.

He had a near constant erection when the elf was even in the same room; if he wasn't hard, he was at half mast.

Always.

It was difficult to hide and was completely torturous. Like earlier, in the marketplace when he was _certain _that Leto touched – no no, Leto _cupped_ – the straining lump in the front of his pants. He wondered idly if Leto might have had the same problem as he; being a young and all. Garrett had not seen any indication that was an issue for him. If he did, his outfits hid it well; Leto_ was_ deliciously – err, _decently_ endowed, after all.

A familiar tightness in his crotch. He swallowed, cheeks pinking.

After today, Garrett decided that he wanted a close up view of Leto's equipment. Something in him noted that it seemed slightly odd that he desired something he knew so intimately, having the same parts, but he couldn't help himself. There had to be a way for Garrett to see the handsome servant as nude as the day he was born. He wanted the opportunity to gift Leto with something much more than Danarius' lechery if they were given the chance at more... _intimate_ activities.

Because if Leto felt anything like he did...

Malcolm cleared his throat.

Glancing over at his father, all he saw were those patient, fatherly eyes. Garrett chuckled mirthlessly, his voice thin, feeling as though his erotic thoughts were written all over his face.

Sliding an arm around his son's broad shoulders, Malcolm and Garrett Hawke made their way to the mansion.

But once back in the tentative privacy of Garrett's suite, the _conversation _he knew was coming was set upon him.

"So what was all that about this afternoon?" his father crossed his legs, sitting in that plush chair by the window.

"What part of this afternoon are you talking about?" Garrett replied evasively, shedding his damp shirt in favour of a cleaner, albeit, more wrinkly one. "I don't know about _you_, but I keep thinking about that slave..."

It was true. He _was_ thinking about a slave; but one more than the other. Best to focus on the unnamed one for now to try and talk the blood back to his brain.

"When Danarius asked how much he..." He shifted his weight, the memory uncomfortable, roiling in his head; killing his arousal with words easier than he expected it would be. "His eyes. He looked ... _excited_. I've never seen anyone excited by the idea of being _bought_."

"That's how it is here, son. I am not saying that slavery is right, but it's the oil that keeps the gears turning. The Magisters of the Imperium wouldn't be able to function without their slaves."

"Then things need to change!" Garrett proclaimed, perhaps a little too passionately.

"You're right." affirmed Malcolm with a nod. "Life in the slaver's quarters is ... unpleasant at best. Most desire to leave as soon as they arrive, and even if they are not broken and subservient when they get there, a slaver's whip will tame them or they die trying to escape; rabid dogs to be put down on a whim."

He _sounded_ like he _was_ talking about dogs; not about oppression and slavery and people with _rights_!

"Why are you telling me this?" growled Garrett.

His father continued in an emotionless tone, offering no answer. "Once the slave is bought by a Magister, life becomes bearable again, generally speaking. Most households are large enough that when they are given a task they are no longer bothered with. They might not have anything except a place to sleep and scraps of food, but that's all one who has never tasted freedom really needs. As I've said, I lived here, with Danarius, for a time. He might be a bastard, but he does not treat his slaves with the same disdain as others in the Imperium."

Garrett snorted obstinately. He couldn't believe his father was saying these things. Even after that night in the hallway outside of Danarius' study when Garrett was forced to stand there and listen to Leto being beaten... how _could_ he?

Malcolm stood and turned to the window, looking outside. "Being a servant affords safety, Garrett. The kind of safety one does not find begging on the streets of Minrathous, or selling themselves to anyone with a copper so that they can buy their next meal. _That_ is what freedom has to offer here."

"Surely there are people who can help those who wish to be free or gain their freedom in some way!"

"If you possess magical talent, or are the partner of someone who does – then perhaps you will be safe. But for those who are untouched by the hand of magic, there is nothing for them here; only a freedom nobody wants. That is why the slave at the market was so eager to impress."

"But what about the Chantry?"

"The Chantry might as well not even exist here. They don't take in the poor and help them as they do in Fereldan. Here, they're just as corrupt as everyone else; lyrium and sovereigns and political power the real goal. Yes, there needs to be change, Garrett. And you are many things, but you are no Andraste."

"But..." Garrett's fists clenched at his sides. "Next you'll be telling me that Leto is better off here than being free!" He roared, emotion cracking his voice. There just _had _to be something else out there.

Malcolm Hawke sighed again, age showing in the lines of his face, but his voice remained even. "The Tevinter Imperium might not be _right_ and it might not be the way we Fereldans think things should be, but it has functioned this way for many years. It is time you accepted the fates of those who have already done so themselves."

Garrett shook his head, unbelieving. "So he should just accept the abuse he's given and feel lucky enough to be _owned _by an old pervert?"

Malcolm's jaw set, his mouth a tight line. Garrett's diversion had been seen through, that much was obvious. But he didn't feel ready for the next question.

"What did I walk in on this afternoon at the market?"

Garrett turned away, an embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks.

The marketplace...

He could still feel the barest hint of Leto's moistness on his mouth, the memory vivid. He knew what he _wanted_ it to be, but he didn't have the mettle to say the words out loud. That was, even if he _could _manage to explain himself. What would his father say if he admitted that he fancied not only an elf, but an elf that was a slave _and_ man? Malcolm had never been quick to judge, especially when it came to his children, but Garrett wasn't on sure footing with anything anymore; not his father who had become unpredictable, and not with his fledgling feelings.

And what about the way his father talked about slaves and the Imperium? Would he tell Garrett not to dally with someone else's property? Would he dare tell Danarius about what he witnessed in the alleyway? He thought not, but he couldn't be sure at this point.

"Nothing." he muttered, suddenly wanting very much to, again, be somewhere else.

"Garrett..."

He gritted his jaw. He wasn't sure of how much more he could, or wanted, to take from his father, but instead of pushing, Malcolm let it go.

For now.

It was only a matter of time before Garrett was forced to come clean about the whole situation.

"Listen. The other night. In the hall. I wanted to apologize for being rough with you. You just... have no idea the things that go on here."

Garrett spun around. He couldn't stop his temper from flaring even though he'd just been granted clemency. It wasn't the most intelligent course of action, this he knew. But he also knew very well what '_went on'_ in the twisted mansion. He'd seen Leto be raped one night and heard him being beaten the next. What more injustices could the elf endure that were more horrible than that?

"I don't?" he scoffed "Then why don't you _enlighten_ me, Father?"

"I don't like your _tone_, young man." Malcolm warned.

"And I don't like you treating me like a child!"

"I treat you like a child because you _act _like one!"

Garrett rolled his eyes.

A hiss of exasperation met his ear from across the room.

"You need to be careful with these people. I didn't think I'd need to explain myself when it came to something like this. And as for treating you like a child, Garrett, I don't want to see my eldest get hurt because I didn't do my job as a father."

"Me? I don't care about _me_, Father."

"You should. I won't always be around to keep an eye on you."

That's what it always came down to with his father. He wasn't sure if it was a parental guilt trip or what, but his father always liked to remind him that one day he wouldn't be around. It was usually about that time in the conversation when he needed to escape or say a bunch of things that he'd instantly regret.

Settling on the former, he stalked toward the suite door and slammed it behind him.

_Someone_ had to be the adult.

* * *

><p>Nearly getting lost in the maze of the mansion after his hasty retreat, barely even paying attention to where he was going, he finally found an exit to the outside. It had taken him so long to even find an exit that by the time the early evening sun was on his skin, his temper had cooled, and he was thinking a bit more clearly.<p>

Obviously, when it came to Leto, he was easily angered! But it didn't mean he had to take it out on his father. He'd had the opportunity to come clean and tell him how he felt, but he'd not had the courage to admit it; which was Garrett's own fault. He knew that. He'd never been scared to say anything before, but lately things were different. _He _was different, and that he could change in such a short time was scary.

Rounding a corner, deep in thought, Garrett didn't notice the dark-haired star of his thoughts sitting on a stool by an open door. He was set to some task, hands busily working; concentration on his face. Upon seeing his friend, the taller boy quickly covered the distance between them with wide strides. "Leto!"

On one side of the elf was a pile of what looked to be empty brown shells, but Garrett couldn't place them. On the other side, a huge fat sack, and on the ground between his knees, a beige bowl.

"Garrett!" Leto sounded genuinely surprised, but the upturn of lip and the arch in his brow belayed his pleasure at the chance meeting. "I didn't expect to see you again until this evening."

"Ugh. I needed to get away from my Father." He flopped down on the dusty flatrock that made up the wide walkway at Leto's feet, sitting cross-legged.

"I see. Are... you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah. I'm fine."

Not wanting to provide details describing the ways in which he was, and was _not _ok, Garrett decided on a less personal route for the time being. Leto was holding what looked to be a nutcracker of some design, and as he was seated closer to the side with the discarded shells, Garrett could smell a sweet scent wafting from them as Leto tossed another one into the pile.

"What are those? They smell really good."

"Zoetleanai."

"Zetli... what?"

A poor attempt at pronunciation, but it solicited a smile from the native arcanum speaker all the same. It was a win in Garrett's book.

"It means 'sweet child'. It is a fruit native to the north of the Imperium."

"A fruit? But, it's in a _shell_."

"It is." Leto reached into the massive burlap sack and pulled out, what looked very much like a nut, and, nestled atop his fingertips, offered it to Garrett. "The shell protects the delicate fruit inside from the constant heat and harsh conditions." he explained.

Reaching out a huge mitt to take the shelled fruit, his own fingertips brushed over Leto's, lingering, causing Garrett's hand to tingle at the unexpected touch.

And, of course, the simplest meeting of skin was enough to send his pulse into a familiar canter.

Attempting to maintain his composure, he focused on the thing rolling around in his palm. Feeling the texture of it's shell with his other hand, he lifted it to his nose experimentally.

It didn't smell like anything.

"So, the good bit is inside, huh?"

Garrett wasn't interested in the fruit really, he was just too incredibly nervous to address anything else; his mind blank when conversing with Leto. He idly wondered if that would ever stop.

Leto smiled easily at the comment, taking up a new brown shell to crack open. "Yes, I suppose so." Discarding the halves of shell, he displayed the snowy white pearl of fruit before dropping it into the bowl with a watery _plop_.

Watching Leto for a quiet moment as he worked his hypnotic disassembly line – nut in hand, crack, _plop_, and tossed the shell in the pile next to him – Garrett noticed the elf's delicate hands were an angry shade of repetitious red, streaked with brown residue from the shell itself.

Actually, now that Garrett had a good look at Leto, he thought the elf looked exhausted.

"It looks like you've been cracking these all afternoon," Garrett motioned vaguely to his probably blistered hands. With a nostalgic chuckle, he remembered how upset his mother would get when she realized what a troublesome helper he made. "Mother used to rope me into helping her shell peas until she realized that there were more peas in my belly than in my bowl."

Leto smiled again, though he kept his attention on his work.

Garrett was on a roll today!

Curious, his gaze trickled down the opened neckline of Leto's loose, airy blouse, wondering where he had stashed the gift he'd given earlier. It wasn't hanging around his neck – that would be much too obvious. Not wrapped around his wrists, nor anywhere else Garrett could see.

Maybe it was in Leto's pants.

_Maker, let it be in his pants. _

Feeling as though he'd stolen too lengthy of a glance, he wiped the grin off his face, and shifted his focus.

Squeezing the nut in his closed fist, he tested its sturdiness. If Leto had to crack the others with the metal utensil, they must have been tough. Concentrating on the pressure he applied to the shell, he tried to crack it through sheer brute strength, but no luck. Upon examining it a little closer, he saw striations on its surface, but not any obvious weak points. He thought that perhaps it would be much easier to crush the shell in between both palms, but it would be so much more impressive with one hand.

He would look so awesome if he could crush it and pull out that fragrant fruit inside unscathed!

Considering how, exactly, he might be able to pull that off, he saw something move just out of the scope of his vision. It was only then Garrett noticed the rhythmic _cracking _had stopped and how quiet it was. Lifting his head from his thoughtfully closed fist, his eyes met those patient green, set in that pale, handsome face.

Leto, with an outstretched hand, was offering him the cracker.

"I got this." smiled Garrett, perhaps a little over-confident. Tossing the nut back and forth between his hands, he caught it, closed his fist around it, and stared at it; like he was about to perform some sleight of hand.

At least he wasn't looking at Leto – being flustered wouldn't help him concentrate.

Concentrating on what he did best; he put pressure on the middle of the shell, attempting, once again, to try and fracture it inside the vice of his hand.

No luck.

It was too small! He couldn't squeeze it enough.

He refused to take the cracker though.

Leaning over, he reached into the sack and plucked out another nut. Maybe he could use them to break each other. _That _would still be cool, right?

Placing them together in his palm, he closed it around them. But, without testing the grip, he applied the wrong amount of pressure and they slipped out of place, one launching out of his grasp and into the air. Garrett watched sheepishly, as lobbed between them, hit the ground, rolled, and finally stopped against Leto's bare toes.

_Smooth. Real smooth._

Naturally, even Leto's _toes _were handsome. Long and curved, but very dirty and dusty, he stared at them. They looked rough and thick soled; the drawbacks to walking around barefoot on unforgiving terrain, Garrett knew. His father was right; he had never run around without being clothed as a child, but Garrett shunned shoes and boots ever since he could remember. Even now he preferred not to wear shoes, but had been forced to give up his shoeless habit since taking up the sword regularly; for the good of his own two feet.

Garrett wondered if it was Leto's choice to run around in bare feet, or if it was Danarius' 'will'.

If Leto had been born in Fereldan, his feet probably wouldn't have looked like that.

But if Leto had been born in Fereldan, he wouldn't have been a slave, either.

And if Leto had been born in Fereldan, Garrett mused, would they have met already? He wasn't certain how, considering the way elves were commonly mistreated in the human-dominant Fereldan society, but somewhere inside him, he _knew_ it would have happened by now despite the odds.

An intake of breath startled Garrett, and he watched as those grubby feet were obscured behind the deep bowl in between Leto's lithe legs. Feeling perhaps he'd embarrassed Leto by gawking, Garrett avoided another awkward meeting of gazes, and hastily bent forward to reach for the naughty escapist fruit, lecturing himself to stop staring so much.

Then there was a jarring in his neck, accompanied by a sharp pain in his head that made him curse, a hand immediately clutching the offended part of his skull. A quick glance at Leto saw him mirroring Garrett's action, and Garrett's face blanched.

_Oh shit! Shit shit! Dammit Garrett! You and your hard head!_

Leto was laughing as he rubbed his forehead, spreading a wide stripe of grime across it.

For a moment, Garrett sat there convinced that he had damaged Leto to the point of delirium judging by the way the older boy laughed. But he also found that, in spite of the obvious hurt he'd unwittingly inflicted upon the elf, that Leto's laughter was even better than Leto's smile. Deep and rumbling in his chest, thick and warm, Garrett could have listened to it for hours. If Leto wasn't knocked out and drooling on the ground from that impact, then maybe he was okay. That didn't let Garrett off his own hook, though.

As punishment, he had a new objective:

Making Leto laugh _without _cracking any skulls. But, it wasn't much of a punishment if he enjoyed it as well, was it?

Garrett noticed, after he was done berating himself, that Leto had been talking and he'd missed every word. Maker, he hadn't just physically abused his favourite person, but he was severely inattentive to top it off! Not good when trying to be attractive to another person, especially when that person was the victim! If he'd been speaking aloud, he'd have probably already run circles around himself with his current, haphazard train of thought.

"Uh, what..?"

"I said that you have a hard head!"

Leto might have been laughing, but any potential for comedic relief was already lost upon Garrett.

In spite of his new 'punishment', he could feel himself frowning.

"Garrett?"

"I'm sorry." He near whispered. "I could have really hurt you."

A finger slipped under the cleft of his chin, leading Garrett's hesitant honey coloured eyes from the pebble he stared at on the ground. "I'm fine." Leto assured without humour at first, but quickly the tone became light again as he smiled. "Though, I feel bad for anyone you _intend _to hurt with that head of yours."

Heart skipping a beat, Garrett's head swam pleasantly; the touch –_ any _touch – always sent him reeling. Reaching out to tidy the smear over Leto's reddened skin, Garrett rose on his knees automatically, Leto's palm barely pressing against his strong human chest. A wide thumb rubbed gingerly across the swelled blemish, taking the dirt upon itself instead.

Eyes sliding down the elf's face, gazes met and Garrett leaned in, his fingers sliding into Leto's choppy black hair right behind charmingly pointed ears. Cupping the back of his head, his face disappeared as Garrett's eyelids slipped shut, even though, somewhere in the back of his mind he had wanted to keep his eyes _open_ for whatever may come next.

But with his eyes closed, he could smell the earthy sweat on Leto's lip, hear the hammering of his heart in his ear, warmth not of the evening sun creeping through him, and the feel of the small elvan hand on his chest fist the front of his shirt; not pulling; not insisting, but urgent.

It could have been a lifetime they sat there like that, Garrett feeling like he was floating, the only thing real was the masculine salt in his nose, soft strands of hair between his fingers and the nervous ache clawing and coiling its way around his belly.

"Leto?"

And as an unexpected voice called from within, Garrett's eyes shot open, about to pull away instinctively, but Leto closed the hesitant distance between their mouths, sealed their lips together, and all of a sudden nothing mattered anymore.

Not who they were; where they were; what they were.

Not that Garrett's eyes were probably as wide as saucers, and not that someone, _anyone _could have been standing in the darkened doorway, witnessing the exchange.

And in the half second after, he struggled to catch up to the elf's already massaging mouth.

Always one step ahead, Leto coaxed Garrett's bashful upper lip into his mouth with a gentle suck, and held it for a meaningful moment. And in that split second, the tip of Garrett's tongue moved on its own, seeking the flavour of the elf. But before he could taste, Leto let him loose with a moist, languid, near silent punctuation of pursed lips that sent Garrett to shuddering, threatening to drop him boneless to the ground.

Their first kiss, clandestine as it was; abrupt as it was, was _the_ single most exciting, elating, arousing, unforgettable thing ever to happen to Garrett Hawke, and before it had really begun it was over.

And, dammit, somehow his eyes had closed again.

Rectifying that situation, he saw Leto had wriggled out of his too loose grasp and was standing, the bowl of scented fruit tucked into the crook of one arm.

Drawing back, somewhat dumbly, Garrett couldn't speak, his voice stolen once again by Leto, the handsome, fearless, complex elf he was hopelessly smitten with.

"Leto?" another voice spoke too softly; not the same voice that had called out before; a young elvan girl with sandy blonde hair tied up in a tidy bun came from the dark doorway. "Papa wants to know if you are finished with -" She stopped as soon as she laid eyes on Garrett and bowed deeply, a strange blush dusting her cheeks. "Oh! Serah Hawke!"

It was the serving girl who had directed him to the baths that first morning after he arrived. Even with her familiar, very honest and friendly face, Garrett _still_ couldn't find a voice – _hell,_ he couldn't even swallow – leaving Leto to fill the awkward silence.

"Here, Orana." He offered the bowl, the watery contents shifting inside as she took it from him "This should be enough. Please, take it inside for me?"

"Of course." she replied dutifully, a secret smile on her lips, and disappeared into the room within.

Leto turned back toward Garrett who had managed to regain his feet. "I've got to go."

Nodding mutely, every receptor in his brain still blown, he watched a definitely grinning Leto turn away from him and hurry into the house.

It wasn't until Leto was gone and the outcropping was empty that Garrett finally moved again.

He put his fingertips to his now dry, rough lips and grinned stupidly.

_I kissed him._

_Well, he kissed me._

_But... we ..._

Then he looked around.

He hoped no one had been spying, and even as he tried to calm the flutter of his heart and swallow the grin on his face just in case anyone _had _been looking, he found it to be stubbornly permanent.

Somehow he didn't mind. He might have been a clumsy, head-butting idiot, and if someone saw him grinning like one, so be it. But Leto had left him feeling amazing; too good to be true, and he didn't want to hide that.

By the sun, it was just over an hour until he'd see Leto again at dinner... but he wasn't sure if he could wait that long.

* * *

><p>Since the first, subsequent meals in the mansion had been awkward for Garrett. He probably would have appreciated the offerings more if Danarius hadn't been present, however. The old man, and his perversions, were the very reasons that Garrett couldn't stop warring with himself about Leto. It wasn't just the perversions and what he <em>did <em>to Leto, but it infuriated the Fereldan that he kept the elf as a slave; as a pet; a toy. Garrett just couldn't get over the images in his mind and the knowledge he had ate at his conscience. It was easier when he wasn't in the same room as the Magister, but he was simply unlike himself when they all sat down to eat; and while Leto the _slave_ served them, Garrett just picked at his plate of food.

Trying to be discrete in his observation of Leto, all long limbs when he glided around the room filling empty goblets, and warm skin when he'd lean over Garrett, allowing their arms to touch where no one could see, also might have had something to do with his complications while dining. Palpitating heart tumbling around in his chest at the very nearness sometimes provided the odd roll of his stomach, acquiescing to a sharp lack of appetite.

But really, he _was_ watching Leto's every move.

Necessarily, but not nearly as important as his obsessing over Leto, Garrett had reminded himself to keep his ears open for possible conversational bits he might be included in, so as to not embarrass his father even more.

When he'd arrived – since he couldn't stop himself from arriving early – Orana had been in the dining room dressing the table. She greeted Garrett formally, and Garrett asked her if she could please not address him in such a fashion. His father was the only _Serah_ in the family, and he was just Garrett. Though, he did ask if he could call her Orana.

"I don't know what else you'd call me. I'm nothing special." she blushed sweetly, face turned to her work with the napkins. He'd never noticed how they were folded into a flower and placed delicately onto the centre of their ornate side plates. Fingers working faster than he'd ever seen, Garrett was in awe of the little elf.

"I've never seen anyone do that with a napkin!" confessed Garrett. "And actually, we don't really use napkins back home. Well, mother and father and Bethany do, but I'm a clean eater. I don't need one. Though my brother, Carver, usually ends up with something in his lap at every meal."

Orana only giggled, but spoke after a second, never looking up from her task. She sounded almost as though she might have been talking to herself; voice like a little mouse. "He said that you were very nice."

"Very nice?" Garrett questioned. She nodded. "Who said I was very nice?"

Another sweet blush was the reply as she swiftly laid out the silverware.

Drawing near to Garrett in her graceful route around the table, she whispered the name as if to speak it aloud would bring the roof down around them.

_Leto._

And then the main doors opened, admitting the Master of the house followed by his father and Leto.

He turned around to look at Orana again, but she had slipped away in the half second he'd taken his eye off her; the table completely set and ready to be used. Damn, she was efficient.

More importantly, had Leto been talking about him? It sure sounded that way. It would also explain Orana's look this afternoon when she came upon them outside the kitchens; kind of like she expected to see Garrett out there with Leto. The very thought made him feel giddy and just a little self-conscious.

There was a drawback, however. The new found knowledge didn't give him a very good start in the way of his attention span, and, of course, as if Danarius had some way of knowing he wasn't paying attention, began table conversation and included the youngster.

"What is your choice of costume for the festivities, young Hawke?"

"Costume?" He looked at his father, confused. He was aware Danarius was throwing a soiree of grandeur in the next couple days, but as far as he knew, the details were scant. Now it appeared his father had just left them out.

"Yes, I meant to speak to you about that, Danarius..."

With his father running an unwitting interference, Garrett's gaze drifted back towards Leto to discover that Leto was already looking at him, offering a slight smile.

It made him feel sheepish for a moment, returning the smile with one of his own, rather lopsided ones, and then turned back to the conversation.

"I will have a variety of costumes brought in tomorrow so that you both may make a selection." Then Danarius leaned back ever so slightly, holding his goblet as Leto attended him. "Bring dessert."

Leto nodded, finished filling the goblet and then left the room.

"While we were at the market, I made a special purchase of my very favourite, very _expensive_ Tevinter delicacies." Launching into an explanation of the items bought, the unusual, otherwise unpronounceable name caught his attention. "..._Zoetleanai _which roughly translates to 'Sweet-"

"...sweet child..." finished Garrett, somewhat flatly.

Of course he should have known that anything Leto was doing had to have something to do with that bastard Danarius.

"My young Hawke! I didn't know you spoke arcanum."

"Uh, I don't." Both pairs of elder eyes were upon him, courtesy of his unusual comment, leaving his palms suddenly sweaty. "I heard someone talking about them at the market."

Garrett stood, awkwardly, his chair legs stopped by the plush carpeting. "Excuse me. I..." Struggling with it, and drawing more attention to himself, he finally spit out a rushed explanation when he managed to strong arm the chair backward. "I... have to go to the wash room..."

And he exited through the freshly latched double door, breathing a sigh of relief.

On the other side of it, Orana and Leto were moving bowls from one trolley to another when he happened upon them. He assumed the gold filigreed dishes they had been holding contained the 'dessert' that Danarius had spoke of. Inside looked to be a large scoop of what might have been ice cream or the like; the familiar sweet scent enough to not only identify the contents, but also to thrust a very recent memory into the front of his mind.

Orana blushed immediately and excused herself, shuffling quickly down the hall with the empty trolley.

The blush was catchy, and Garrett soon felt his cheeks heating up.

But Leto spoke in a hushed fashion, obviously surprised. "Garrett! You shouldn't be out here."

"Yeah, sorry. I... I said I had to go to the washroom." he swallowed. He didn't realize, and Leto hadn't mentioned, that those _whatever-they-were-called_ just happened to be Danarius' _expensive_, self-proclaimed favourites.

And he was angry, though, he wasn't entirely sure why.

But Leto was looking at him, curiously; a stray lock of hair almost completely covering one of his beautiful green eyes, and Garrett's anger melted into the floorboards.

The neckline of his shift was crooked, showcasing a defined collarbone; billowy sleeves pushed up past the elbow, revealing smooth, creamy skin.

Garrett reached out, desperate to reconnect; to regain the touch of skin he'd been craving since their kiss not even an hour ago. Almost feverish, he was careful to mitigate his excited, potentially bruising grip around Leto's warm forearm, and his mouth opened, leaving words to tumble out all on their own.

"Meet me."

Leto didn't take a step toward or away from Garrett's touch, just stood still, seemingly in thought, as the taller boy almost pleaded.

"Tonight. Please."

Garrett thought for a moment that Leto would refuse, the look on his face absolutely _conflicted._

That look couldn't have meant any good.

Maybe it was because he was holding his breath, but he grew more lightheaded as the the silent moment of uncertainty before Leto spoke inched past.

"You know where?"

Garrett nodded, shaky breath finally allowed to escape. Of course he knew where. The gazebo. Maker, he couldn't wait to be alone with Leto again. It was all he really thought about -

"Garrett."

"Hmm?"

"My arm."

"Oh!" The strapping warrior immediately freed Leto with a shy smile, lamenting Leto's warmth bleeding too quickly from his palm.

Maker, Leto really was a handsome lad, that knowing grin of his completely disarming, leaving Garrett little better than a puddle of goo.

Hands gripping the handle of the cart, Leto began to push it to the heavy double doors but stopped, rather abruptly, turning back toward Garrett. "Wait a moment before following." he warned.

He nodded emphatically, and at that moment, Garrett Hawke realized that he would do anything Leto asked him to.

* * *

><p>The rest of the meal together couldn't have passed quickly enough for Garrett with he and his Father returning to their quarters together afterwards. Garrett was in a great mood; anything Malcolm could say or do unlikely to sour it.<p>

And, Maker, he hated fighting with his Father, so he slipped in a quick apology and well-timed 'you were right'; exactly what a father would want to hear, and _voila!_

No more tension.

He didn't volunteer any information about his father's one big bombshell of a question, and didn't rehash anything that had been the topic of discussion that afternoon; Malcolm seeming to want to stay away from it all as well. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell his father about Leto, but he didn't exactly know what to say about the whole situation yet.

Garrett was swimming in uncharted waters. He knew Malcolm must have had formulated his own ideas by now about what might have transpired earlier that afternoon, but he continued to give Garrett the space he needed.

The air had cleared for them by the time they reached their apartments, and the familial exchange ended with a somewhat embarrassing hug and a ruffle of Garrett's already messy hair.

Immediately upon entering the room – once the door was securely closed, mind you – Garrett practically skipped to the desk and scooped up Leto's waiting cloak. Stuffing a book in the back of his pants, he could barely contain himself as he forced himself to spend just enough time in his room to convince his father he was asleep, and, quiet as a chantry mouse, snuck out of the mansion and into the gardens.

Cloak secured around his shoulders, lantern in hand, Garrett waited until he was far enough away from the mansion to safely light it. Even running, he could make the trip to the clearing in his sleep, the tricky, overgrown passageway no longer a challenge, even in the dark.

Arriving in record time, he checked the gazebo for occupants and found none.

Garrett sighed, a bit deflated; he'd hoped that maybe Leto had made it there before him. Folding the cloak and placing it as casually as he could to the side of the hanger, his hand was lonely without the material between his fingers. He looked at it for a moment, then took it up again, raising it to his nose, breathing in deeply. Leto's scent within was just as strong as it had been when he first smelled it that morning.

The morning seemed so far away now, like it had been last week sometime; so much had happened between he and Leto that Garrett could hardly believe it all happened in the span of twenty-four hours.

Then a rustling behind him, perhaps footsteps, had Garrett spinning around, unable to see anything in the dark beyond the gazebo. He stood and searched the dark with his eyes, holding out hope that it could have been Leto. But the sound had lead to nothing. He chuckled and shook his head at his own eagerness and headed to the steps. Sitting there, lantern perched on a step above, he started into the darkness for a time, hearing the odd rustling of leaves, but nothing ever remotely sounding like Leto approaching.

He stood and shuffled aimlessly around the gazebo, half searching, half bored.

He sat back down beside the lantern, bouncing his arms and legs restlessly.

And then got back up with the lantern and hung it, crawling onto the swinging sleeper instead. At first he sat cross-legged, not wanting to take his eyes off the unrelenting dark just in case he spotted the elf. But when he started to see things that weren't there, the black just _too _damn black, he laid back, staring at the glass domed ceiling; up at the stars.

Garrett didn't have an accurate idea of how long he'd been waiting; it felt like _hours _but, realistically, it could have only been a handful of minutes.

He did know that he had no idea when Leto might show up, and Garrett began to wander into those dark places of his mind that housed the morbid curiosity about what a master asked of his slave. He didn't _want _to consider things along that vein of thought, but it was impossible the more he denied them space in his mind. The thoughts of having Leto completely broken and subservient was _not_ any kind of turn on for Garrett; leaving him angry and anxious more than anything.

Needing a distraction, he folded the cloak under his head and wiggled the paperback out of his waistband. His favourite. He'd read it a few dozen times, but never got tired of it. Able to quote at least the first chapter completely from memory, he skimmed the pages, barely registering the words; the sentences lost upon his distracted mind as he thought about Leto.

Not Leto the slave, but Leto the free man.

Leto deserved to be free. He deserved to be in a place where he could be like everyone else... and he would be free to pursue whatever pleasures he wanted. Not just that, but share the same hardships as everyone else and triumph over them, grasping that sense of life and joy Garrett suspected Leto knew nothing about.

Equals.

That's what he wanted from Leto. He wanted them to be friends and to see places together; maybe adventure together! The things they could do with his quick elven reflexes and Garrett's huge swords! And then, maybe, one day Garrett would speak his heart to Leto. He wouldn't want to rush; there'd be no reason to rush anyone, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping that Leto might learn to feel the same somewhere deep down. Whatever way that actually was. Garrett wasn't even sure what their relationship was evolving into.

Equals, yes. Friends, yes. But, he also wanted to protect Leto. Garrett wanted to make sure no one had the chance to hurt Leto ever again. It might be scary for him at first, but Garrett would be there to help. He wanted to be Leto's shell; sheltering him from all the things that dare mar his soft, precious, pale skin.

Like the _Zoetleanai!_

Yawning, he wondered absently what that iced dessert had tasted like. If those fruits tasted half as good as they smelled when he'd been near them earlier, they were some treat.

And he'd missed out on it.

It had been Garrett's sort of non-verbal objection to Leto's hand blistering task that afternoon. Admittedly, his refusal to eat the decadent dessert was also partially due to the fact that it was Danarius' favourite. Usually he didn't pass on sweets of any sort, but the thought of eating something that bastard enjoyed so much, frankly, made Garrett a little ill.

He yawned again, tenting his book on his chest, fists rubbing at the invisible sand in his eyes.

That kiss – the secret knowledge that it happened over something that Danarius coveted like those expensive fruits – should have been enough, but not for Garrett. He just _had _to impress his silent will upon, well, nobody, and miss out on a treat.

_Serves me right._

Rubbing a hand over his beard, he knew his thoughts were all jumbled, and he was a bit sleepy.

So yes, he sort of regretted passing on dessert; he could have used the sugar boost.

_Why is this swinging thing so comfortable, anyway?_

Moving his head so that he could smell the cloak tucked under his head as a pillow, Garrett's eyes grew heavy, and he decided to close them for just a few minutes.

Surely Leto would wake him when he arrived.


	5. Complicated Simplicities

_A/N: Holy cow! It's been forever since I updated. Sorry about that! I had some trouble getting this chapter edited by someone, but my friend Katy came to the rescue! So, many thanks to her._

_Warnings for slash, blood, questionable stuff, more teenage hormones._

* * *

><p><strong><span>Day Five<span>**

**o-o**

Weight and heat was the first thing he felt, but it wasn't what roused him.

Something was on top of him. Not heavy, but unmistakably _there, _rocking; rolling pleasantly against his pelvis. He could feel palms pressed against his stomach; fingers curled familiarly in the slack of his shift, but Garrett's consciousness returned sluggishly, prompting him to lucidly wonder if he was dreaming again.

Whatever was happening was good; maybe _too_ good. He could feel it seeping through his body, warm and liquid; could feel his skin prickle, but also, low in his gut, contrasting sharp jolts of something raw; something needful swelling and constricting with every shift of pressure below his waist.

He groaned then, unable to keep from rolling his own hips in kind.

Above, there was an intake of breath, too loud in his ears; too real, and his eyes peeled open.

He couldn't see anything beyond his lashes, lids still heavy with sleep, and he was tempted to close them again as the motion atop his body continued, making him forget all about the momentary draw of breath. A similar sound escaped his own lips as he arched his back, hands seeking purchase anywhere on the undulating weight on top of him. Once his palms clutched; fingers curling around lithe, smooth thighs, he thrust upward as he pulled the form closer, crushingly; a long, slow grind that made him grit his teeth.

He _had _to be dreaming... and yet...

Blinking against the darkness and haze, he was forced to concentrate for a moment to focus, discerning only a blurry figure above him illuminated by the flicker of his lantern.

He should have probably been panicked – at least alarmed – but those spikes of pleasure inside him were growing hard to ignore; that warmth beginning to dissolve the feeling of _anything_ other than the arousal that flooded him. Shocking himself with how easily he dismissed any thoughts of uncertainty, he managed to look down his body, all shadows under the faint light, and was caught again in the rapture of the wicked stimulation the body that belonged to the hands tangled in his shirt was coiling inside him.

It made sense; the sinful ache between his legs, the consuming heat...

This was no dream.

Searching for a face he wasn't sure was even there, he followed the trail of fisted hands to thin wrists to capable, pale arms to delicate collarbone and slim, lovely neck to a perfect chin. The face was bared to the sky, but even if Garrett still had his eyes closed he would know who it was taking pleasure from his hardened flesh.

Sliding his huge hands across the length of hot, leather clad thighs, a half-confused, half-craving moan dribbled from his mouth. Leto was working his hips in a barely restrained action, rutting urgently against Garrett when the moan had been pulled from him.

The knowledge that this beautiful creature was essentially _using_ him for his own carnal pleasure, and the _friction _between them; the pressure on his cock, the heated near-skin under his hands had Garrett's head spinning dangerously, heat pulsing in him too quickly.

Completely aware of just how hard his partner was thanks to the barely there leather trousers between them, Garrett gasped, grasp flexing on Leto's thighs in time with his pulse while Leto worked. Hanging on was literally all he could do as the deceptively sturdy elf rode him like a wild animal.

The way Leto was moving, grunting, growling... he must have been completely lost wherever he was.

A brilliant angle Leto discovered had him writhing, causing the sleeper to start swaying, and Garrett yelped, pleasantly surprised. "Ahh – !"

He had been staring up at Leto's chin the whole time, but the needy sound drew the elf's gaze.

Jade flecks glittered around the very edge of his eyes as they discovered Garrett, now awake, most of the natural green rounded out by dark lust. Lips, already wet and shiny, were curled into a sultry smile, the slight sheen of sweat on his beautiful skin seemed to reflect the lantern light...

He couldn't tell if Leto had been shocked to discover Garrett's strained expression, but once their eyes locked together, Leto's lips suddenly parted to raggedly suck in a chestful of air, his hips ceasing their desperate search for friction.

"Unnh..." Leto's deep voice was strained and tenor and wispy; his fingertips digging suddenly into Garrett's taut tummy.

He watched as Leto fought to keep his eyes open; the fluttering of lashes, his wet tongue laving a swollen, oft bitten lip, and the jerking twitch of Leto's covered cock again his own all worked in concert to snap the teenager's last string of control.

And, if that wasn't enough, Leto finally groaned a word as his orgasm gripped him; and not just a word, but a name.

"Garr—ett!"

Unlike Leto, and very much without the power to control his own body, a typhoon of impossible pleasure ripped through him, and he arched his back, thrust his hips, and clamped his hands deeper into the slight hips beneath them.

Leto hissed sharply, but Garrett's orgasm was a one-way ticket, blanking his mind as he rode wave after wave while trapped in the elf's dark, consuming gaze.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he'd never come that hard in his whole life. Though, he had never had anyone help like that before...

Garrett's grip did not let up as he lay dazed; his muscles seizing as an aftershock, or two, were forced from his body. Quickly, however, he was able to come back to himself and awkwardly released Leto, depriving himself of the warm flesh under his palms.

Leto slipped off his lap, but pulled back a huge, useless arm and snuggled into the crook of it as if it were the most natural thing to do.

His seed was still hot in his pants, trapped against his belly, and the thought that Leto had been the one to draw it out of him was not helping him calm down.

Lightheaded, he'd been holding his breath, and only started breathing again once he coughed, gasping. Trying to play it off, the younger boy forced an odd sounding chuckle, willing the embarrassing thunder of his heart away.

Leto slipped a hand under his shift, feeling the damp, smooth planes of his lightly haired chest, nothing about his caresses erotic; only a pleasant, fuzzy thought in the background.

Even with the nearness of the small, hot body beside him, and the heady arousal still lingering, the repetitive caresses drifting over his belly and chest syphoned the nervous energy away. Leto discovered places to touch him that Garrett, himself, had no idea would illicit such calming results.

He wasn't sure what to do with the elf tucked away in his arm, but his tingling hand quickly gravitated to the dark, messy tresses. Soft and wood-scented, Garrett rubbed small, lazy, uneven circles against Leto's warm scalp.

Chest pressed against Garrett's side, he could have sworn Leto was purring.

That was a good sign.

Strokes lengthening as his heart finally slowed, he petted the older boy with the quiet affection that lingered in his heart.

And Garrett thought that he could stay there forever.

Neither one spoke for a long while, and just as Garrett's eyes started to droop, Leto's murmur filled the scant distance between their heads.

"I'm sorry..." he hesitated, his voice dropping off "about that... just now." Aside from the apologetic chord in his tone, there was also something that wasn't as easily recognizable. "I... don't know what came over me."

"Neither do I." Garrett commented, hiding his silly smile in Leto's hair, unable to conceal the contentment. "I'm not sorry though... that was uh..."

"Mmm." Leto provided.

"Yeah..."

_Leto. _

His friend, and an elf at that, had just got them off labouring in the naughtiest of ways on Garrett's huge, human lap. He had the wet, sloppy smalls to prove it; _knew _he had been making the most embarrassing, needful noises, and was _still _was unable to think properly...

_Yes, very naughty._ He concluded with the last of his brain-power.

Leto had somehow calmed his lusty desires with an uncanny ability to bring peace over him with a touch, but he was _still_ hard.

"Garrett?"

"Leto?"

Garrett felt a light vibration against his body.

Leto had been laughing silently. "What?"

"I like when you say my name."

"You do?"

"Mm."

Garrett shook his head, remembering Leto's passionate, breathless lilt, and shuddered.

"My voice -" he started, his voice cracking belligerently as if on queue.

Garrett cleared his throat, mortified, and Leto laughed aloud this time, his arms squeezing Garrett tighter. "My voice, uh, isn't anywhere _near_ as..." He was glad that Leto couldn't see the heat he knew was on his cheeks, and anxiety forced his mouth to continue flapping. "I mean... yours... it..."

"Hmmm?" Leto hummed, the deep, unique rasp restored. "It... what?"

He honestly thought that it was incredibly sexy. Especially when Leto spoke low enough for only him to hear, like how they'd spoken in the market. Garrett couldn't help but feel _privileged_ to hear such intimate tones in those words.

He twitched in his pants.

"It's bloody _sexy_" he blurted, mentally slapping himself, wondering if there even _was_ a filter between his brain and his mouth. He suspected the excess blood in his nether regions assisted with that, obviously unsure which way to flow anymore.

"Well, that is to say, I mean, uh..." he searched, unable to think past the inane words he'd just uttered. "It's just..."

"Thank you, Garrett."

Garrett's eyebrows raised in surprise, then furrowed. Leto sounded far too thankful for such a crude comment, and it was, yet again, a point in which he wished he had half the charisma and way with words that his father did. Leto deserved better than _boorish_, though Garrett spoke that more than anything else.

"Uh. Yeah. You're... welcome." he mumbled dumbly, closing his eyes, taking refuge in the soft brush of Leto's hair. As long as Leto was trapped in his embrace, he couldn't easily escape, so Garrett decided to take advantage of that.

Shifting, he reached his free arm around to affectionately palm Leto's hip when the older boy nuzzled his chest.

A grit of teeth and a sharp, nasal breath had Garrett jerk his hand away. He recalled Leto's screwed up face when he'd squeezed the same spot only minutes ago. Garrett was so absorbed in the moment that he completely forgot what side he had manhandled Leto on.

The sound of pain had brought back the realization that Leto was still injured from his unjust beating the other night, and Garrett saw his bruises anew.

"Uh, sorry..."

A long second between them was accentuated by the garden's chirping nightlife.

"It's fine..."

Instead of holding onto that particular place, Garrett hovered up the long angle of Leto's body and awkwardly hugged him around his shoulders. Quite unused to displaying that type of affection for another, once Garrett relaxed, it was absolutely blissful, but Leto still felt small inside the cage of Garrett's huge arms.

Glancing up to the dark dome of sky, Garrett breathed deeply into his stomach, the fresh scent of the meadow a perfect compliment to Leto's skin.

He was baffled by how one person managed to make his life complete with just his presence.

So many things were running through his head; what they'd just done, and all the things he _wanted _to do.

He thought about other things, too, some mundane, some otherwise; seeing Leto's sleepy face first thing in the morning, breaking fast, bathing, touching, just _talking _together.

His thoughts didn't include race or class or complications.

All fantasies and frivolous wishes... but he couldn't imagine doing them with anyone else.

He wanted to commemorate his desires with a kiss, but everytime he even thought about it, his stomach lurched dangerously.

Even after such an intimate act, there was still massive hesitation on his part, leaving Garrett both unaware of what to do next and frustrated under the weight of his inexperience.

And just as he dipped his head to seek out Leto's mouth, the object of his desire spoke.

"Have you ever had to... _hurt_ someone you cared about?"

Garrett blinked. That didn't mesh at _all _with what was on his mind...

"_Had_ to? You mean for their own good or something?"

Leto fell silent; the communication between the two reduced to the quiet sound of Leto's hair being stroked. When it was apparent Leto had no intention of answering Garrett's question, he figured he might as well answer if it would preserve any type of conversational flow.

"No." He found it hard to think about anyone other than Leto in that instance in regards to himself, but Leto was more than likely referring to someone besides Garrett. "I hope that I don't ever have to." Garrett murmured, hand trembling, tracing the line of hair around Leto's pointed ear.

"What if you didn't have a choice?"

"There is _always_ a choice." Garrett answered simply, and Leto tensed.

"You're wrong." He returned flatly.

_Wrong?_

From the stiffness in Leto's frame and the lack of warm breath on his collarbone, Garrett's heart clenched.

Something was wrong, indeed.

Sliding his hand around the back of Leto's slender neck, and arm around his waist, he pulled the older boy against him possessively, close enough that he felt Leto's breath once again upon his neck.

The unexpected words swirled around in his head.

He didn't want to admit it, but perhaps his father had been right.

Perhaps he didn't know as much as he _thought_ he knew about what happened in this place.

Why would Leto bring up such a topic of conversation so lightly?

And why would it make him so _tense_?

In an attempt to soothe Leto with the flat of his hand, his fingers casually slipped under a strip of leather laying around the other boy's neck.

It was the length of leather that had tangled their hands together earlier on in the marketplace; and on the end of it Garrett knew he'd find the gift he'd given. Garrett had not seen it since they'd left the market, and had been a little disappointed. He understood that Leto probably hid it for many reasons, most of which probably involved his safety, but it still nipped at his heart that Leto had to hide something like that. It was just a gift, afterall.

He didn't feel the need to talk about it anymore; everything that could have been said had been said at the market. Leto had accepted it in his way, and Garrett's determination had been bolstered by that acceptance.

Their relationship could have passed for a mere _friendship_ if Danarius hadn't skewed its course so nefariously early on. Garrett had been interested in the slave elf as just that; something he didn't know much about and had no experience with. Though, as they lay there, chest to chest, heat and a strange sense of comfort between them, Garrett refused to believe that it had been all thanks to Danarius.

_Anyone_ would have been captivated by such a creature, and it was completely of Garrett's choosing how he felt towards Leto.

Garrett hadn't even had an impure thought about other men before he'd arrived at the mansion, and if there wasn't something _real_ between them, surely he wouldn't feel the way he did now.

Hesitant fingertips on his jaw summoned his attention to see Leto fingering the beard that began to take shape there.

"Ah. I usually don't keep a beard, but I've been lazy. What do you think about it?"

Leto hesitated, staring as he skimmed gently over the coarse hair.

He edged Leto's hand away from him and scrubbed at his jaw roughly, keeping watch of Leto's reaction from the corner of his eye. "I think I might keep it."

"No!" Leto shook his head. "You look better _without_ it."

Garrett cocked his head, surprised by Leto's strong opposition. "I do?"

Leto smiled and nodded earnestly. "Well, yes. _I_ think so."

"If I look better without it... Then perhaps it _should_ come off..."

Garrett honestly had no feeling about it either way and had intended to keep it or shave it based solely on Leto's opinion, and was glad he didn't have to force it out of the elf.

A sensual tone dropped into Leto's voice. "If that is what you desire."

Garrett smiled his best smile, fighting the butterflies in his stomach. "I think it is."

Then Leto sat up, a little too quickly for Garrett's liking. "Then I shall bring provisions to the baths tomorrow."

Garrett followed suit. "You're not _leaving_, are you?"

"I should -"

"Can you just stay for a little while longer?"

Leto regarded him for a moment and then nodded good-naturedly. "Alright."

And again, Garrett began the new day as he had the previous one; alone except for the company of Leto's cloak.

* * *

><p>Scratching his jaw, Garrett decided that he also preferred himself clean-shaven.<p>

He'd been too lazy to clean himself up from the previous night's activities with Leto, so when he hit the baths, that had been the first thing he'd done. Seated on the simple stool in the shower room outside the bath, he lathered up his belly. The thick hair there stuck together, pulling smartly until they began to soften and come clean, scrubbing until all trace of his release was gone. Idly, he wondered what it would have felt like to have Leto's seed on his belly, mixing with his own; flesh mingling together, hard and hot and needy.

Shuddering bodily at the very thought, he violently dunked the soap into the wooden water bucket, splashing droplets and bubbles onto the tile at his feet.

So much had happened since he'd come to this place. Though, he was practically an adult and it was only right for him to start discovering his desires properly.

Garrett nodded resolutely.

Desires were good.

Typically, Garrett enjoyed the company of girls, _no no_, he enjoyed the company of _women_, and men had been something he hadn't deigned to think about in such a manner. Still, if he were being honest, they remained uninteresting; Leto, so far, the only exception. Things didn't feel different than they had been for him before; the idea of sharing sexuality with _anyone_ just as exciting despite the difference in plumbing. He wasn't one-hundred percent sure of the _technicalities_ of the act with a man, but there were basics.

He was sure of _that_ part.

Running the soap over his chest and shoulders, the occasional dip in the bucket beside him served to run helpful suds down his back. Soaping himself all the way up to his jaw, he began to work down, when innocent and dutiful hands discovered the hardening flesh between his legs.

"Ugh, great." he muttered, fisting himself languidly, pulling back the skin to clean all his nooks and crannies. "Garrett, you're such a pervert." His own touch felt as good as it ever did, though he desperately wanted to undo the mystery around what Leto's touch might have been like. He'd been pretty skilled with his hips to keep them rubbing on one another as he did just a short time ago out in the meadow; the thought commanding more blood to flood his vital regions.

He didn't want to think how that talent of the elf's developed, so he didn't.

Instead, his thoughts drifted back to his dutiful cleansing, trying to mentally beat down his erection.

He briefly considered a quick jerk to solve the problem when the door to the baths creaked open.

Startled, the soap went shooting out of his hands and through the air, sliding on the marble floor to stop at those bare feet he knew so well.

Leto was standing there, wooden bucket in his hands as he had before, but this time he had a bit of a smile on his face as Garrett gaped. Hurriedly, he cupped a hand over his length, and reached for his towel with the other, face crimson.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, you know." Leto teased lightly, bending down to pick up the wayward soap.

Pulling the fluffy white piece of cloth over his lathered lap, he felt a little more comfortable everywhere except his groin, which seemed to only be getting firmer. Though, Garrett was thankful when Leto lingered while retrieving the soap; allowing Garrett a moment to better situate his unyielding cock under the towel.

"W-what are you doing here?"

"I've come to shave you."

"Oh! Right." His hand immediately went to his scruff and he chuckled, suddenly very nervous.

Picking up a fresh wash bucket, Leto began to fill it from the already heated water reserve. "I'm sorry that I startled you. I should have knocked first."

"I'm sorry I'm naked." Garrett replied hastily, and he heard Leto chuckle; heard the smile on his face.

"That's usually how one is in the bath, yes?"

"Uh, yeah. I... well, _all _naked." he cleared his throat. "You know."

The slight elf's gaze roamed appreciatively over Garrett and his nudity before he answered; both the look and sensual edge in his voice assisting Garrett's growing issue. "Mmm. Perhaps I do. However, it seems as though you are not ready for my assistance...?"

"Huh?"

"You need a rinse."

"Oh. Yeah."

"And you've missed your back."

Garrett swallowed, both scared and elated that he knew what might come next.

Displaying the soap in hand, Leto cocked his handsome head to the side. "May I?"

He thought he might die on the spot. "Uh. Yeah. Please."

Garrett had favoured, out of the four not particularly private stalls, the one farthest from the door. All in a line down the room, the stalls were separated by a very short half-wall that might have provided some privacy to a smaller person, but with Garrett's long human legs and large human body, he even dwarfed the stool on which he sat.

Fereldan's were of a sturdy stock, afterall.

Not to say the room was particularly uncomfortable; the warm steam and the equally warm marble was quite pleasant, and since the stalls lined only the one wall, he ended up having a lot of leg room.

Unpleasantries and awkwardness had the potential to run amok, especially if anyone – other than Leto or his father – had come in while he was washing. Even with Leto present he felt a little unease, but it was mostly due to his Fereldan etiquette. In the Imperium, it was quite common for people to bathe in common. Some bath houses in Minrathous even allowed both men _and _women to bathe together, whereas in Fereldan, bathing and such activities were done in solitude and in a private dwelling. The definition of a 'bath house' was very different back home than it was in the Imperium...

He'd been lucky having met no one undesirable in the facilities when he was using them, for he had no desire to offend anyone with his differing habits, just as he had no desire to submit easily to local custom. Especially one that was so _intimate_.

Leto had been quicker than he'd hoped he'd been in lathering up his huge human back; his hands working swiftly and firmly, melding a rub and the cleansing together.

But it was heavenly.

"And now a rinse."

He could hear Leto at the hot water tub, drawing some into another bucket for rinsing.

Anxiety hit Garrett again; the knowledge that he'd have to remove the towel a bit daunting. He fingered the edge of it until a smooth voice caressed his ear.

"Don't worry. I won't look."

He would have never even known if Leto had peeked or not; the elf had been standing behind him the entire time. It wouldn't matter anyway if he did because Garrett supposed it was only fair that he share his own nudity after he'd seen Leto that way. Though, Leto still didn't know Garrett had seen him naked...

Pulling the towel off his lap, there was barely a breath of a pause before Leto began to pour water over his shoulders, dismissing the second skin of bubbles. He wasn't sure what he was expecting – or perhaps hoping for – but Leto was completely professional, and even if he'd seen Garrett's cock he'd probably never say anything. Casually looking down in his lap to assess the situation, he noticed that he was only half-hard. And actually, he was just hard enough that it lent some impressive length to the appearance of a flaccid member.

He did, however, hear Leto clear his throat.

Then the water stopped and Leto busied himself with a leather strop from the bucket he'd brought with him. Attaching it to the dividing wall, he tested it with a tug, and from his pocket, he produced a straight razor.

Garrett watched with interested eyes as Leto prepared the blade for cutting, running it up and down the strop with practised ease. Wanting to be clean-shaven all the time had required Garrett to learn the same actions, but he had never gotten very good at it. In addition to that, his father hated shaving, so he never imparted important techniques to his son.

And in the end, Garrett had to figure out how to do it with help from his _mother_, of all people. He never told anyone at school because they'd never let him live it down.

He found out later, incidentally, that his father had never actually shaved his own face in his life. He had let it grow from the time that it started, and when he met his wife she lodged a complaint. According to her, he told her that if she wanted it gone that she would have to do it herself.

So she did.

...Right up until about the time the twins were born, then he 'decided' to let it grow wild once again.

Garrett supposed his shaving job was alright, his tutor/mother nearly a professional at it, but probably not anything like what he was about to experience under Leto's hand.

He wondered if there was anything Leto couldn't do.

With the straight edge out of his hands, Leto soaked a pile of small towels in the steaming bucket, wrung them out, and descended on Garrett; all business.

"Do you want me to get up, or...?"

Once Leto was behind Garrett again, he wasn't sure what to do, so he just sat still. Unnaturally warm hands traced over his temples; a bare whisper of a touch.

And Leto's voice had taken on that quiet roughness that Garrett was addicted to. "Tilt your head back."

Eyes open, he did as Leto requested until the crown of his head met with what he assumed was Leto's belly. When he saw those thoughtful green orbs looking down into his face, butterflies gathered in his stomach.

Maker, he was a lovely creature.

Leto could have asked for anything, and, once again, Garrett would have gladly obliged.

"Now close your eyes."

The blond did as he was told, and those hot towels were piled strategically onto his face, careful to not obstruct his breathing.

Instantly, the heat drew all the tension away from his face, and he hummed in contentment. Under the combination of Leto's hot hands rubbing gently at the top of his shoulders, and the solid flesh behind him supporting his head atop his loosened neck, Garrett was little more than putty.

"Have you considered what you might dress as for the Magister's masquerade tomorrow evening?"

"Uh, I haven't, actually." Garrett swallowed. He could feel his Adam's apple against the tight skin of his throat wrapped in heat. "Will you be ... going?"

There was a pause; Garrett recognizing the sound of the bristle brush knocking repeatedly against the sides of a soap bowl as it was lathered. He'd been so relaxed, that he'd not even noticed that Leto's hands were busy with something else.

"Magister Danarius wouldn't have it any other way." Leto commented, sounding almost bored, but the woody sounds of the brush in the bowl became quick and uneven, echoing in the emptiness. "He... _enjoys_ when people look at me."

Despite the heat surrounding him, the way Leto worded his reply caused his blood to run cold.

_To show off his possession, no doubt._ Garrett had figured as much.

He _really_ wanted to know, since Leto would be attending, what he would be dressed as, but Garrett decided he didn't want to spoil the mood by talking anymore about his bastard host or his degrading ways, so he fell silent.

Leto had set about removing the wet cloths from his face, Garrett watching him work with concentration, and just as Garrett had opened his mouth to speak, Leto's fingertip was pressed against Garrett's lips.

"No more talking."

"Mm." Garrett smiled against it's softness, and closed his eyes, waiting for the main event to begin. Shocked when he felt Leto's hands gently part his knees to stand in between them, his eyes flew back open, and saw Leto's gentle smile.

Leto, as he had promised before, didn't look down at all, but began to coat the thick beard in a familiarly scented lather.

The new sensation on the bristles on his face calmed him, and he supposed he'd only been slightly shocked. It made sense that Leto couldn't shave his face from behind him! Soothing his nerves with a deep breath, he enjoyed watching elf's serious demeanour as he concentrated on the task at hand.

Typically, Garrett enjoyed this part the best when he shaved, but it felt a hundred times better, as Garrett has suspected it would; Leto circling the soft bristles over his face, stimulating and disturbing the usual pattern of the newly softened hair.

And that _smell_. It was Leto's scent; the same scent of the shampoo at the baths that one morning not so long ago. He'd never associate that smell with anything else, ever. It was Leto's hair; his skin; maybe even the taste of his lips and -

Not surprisingly, Garrett began to loose control of his arousal, and suddenly he was very concerned with the state of his erection.

He really didn't want to seem a lecher, so he moved his hands, as casually as possible, to cover it.

"You can't move like that when I'm shaving you." Leto chided softly, still working.

"Sorry." Garrett murmured, leaving his hands in his lap to cover if things got worse.

Leto dipped the brush back into the thick lather and returned to Garrett's white face, and that was the only thing Garrett concentrated on.

Until the only bit left to do was the upper and lower parts of the lip, so Garrett did what he always did: sucked his lips between his teeth to avoid them getting coated in soap. A small, appreciative smile graced Leto's mouth, and he did a quick, playful once-over with the brush from cheek to cheek before Garrett pushed his lips back out.

"Thank you."

"Mmhm."

If Garrett had ever had trust issues, they would have surfaced in that moment as Leto reached for the blade which he'd drag across the Fereldan's skin. The sharpest edge he'd ever come across was inches away from his throat, and all the could think about was the gentle nudge of Leto's fingertip, beckoning Garrett to tilt his head up and to the side.

Leto did a thorough job indeed, lathering Garrett's face not once, not twice, but worked on a third pass. Usually Garrett lost interest after the second sweep of his face and didn't mind any hair that he may have missed. He never left himself enough time to shave properly, so he'd end up with a patch here and there, and angry red bumps.

And he'd never admit it if anyone asked him, but his mother demanded she give him a proper shave before he and Malcolm left for Tevinter.

"_You want to look handsome for all the ladies"_ She had explained.

How interesting it was that ladies were, unexpectedly, not on his agenda at all...

She'd not lost much technique over the last year since he'd taken over the task, so he was very glad when those bumps were nowhere to be seen. He honestly didn't much care about his own appearance, but was glad for it when he met Leto.

Leto's elven skin was flawless. Smooth like cream and pale; a lovely contrast to his dark tresses and bright eyes. Garrett considered him lucky he didn't have to shave on a daily basis to maintain it. Those bruises, however, had to go. Leto didn't deserve to wear them; the physical reminders of Danarius' cruelty. They were beginning to lighten up, having changed from deep purple marks with definite borders to vague blotches with ugly yellow trim.

Maybe if Leto dressed as a slave for the soiree next night the bruises would make the role more convincing, but Garrett didn't want to see that.

In his mind, Leto should have been dressed as a prince, or an adventurer with a beautiful gilded bow and leather.

Yes, lots of leather.

And Garrett could be a swordsman! And they could be companions just like in his daydreams! Adventure and danger and freedom would suit Leto very well, Garrett determined with a confirming hum.

"Hmm?" inquired Leto, stroking the edge over Garrett's chin one final time, then rinsing the blade in the tub of steaming water.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something."

It could work. Garrett was convinced it could. They could go anywhere and do anything. Adventure on the high seas, rescuing maidens and fighting bandits! He and Leto could even enlist in King Theirin's army. There had been quiet whispers around Fereldan that another Blight would be upon them soon. It would be exciting to defeat the darkspawn forces and protect the land he loved. They could do it together; as friends, as companions... even, perhaps...

"Hey, Leto?"

He'd been bent over at the wash basin, but as soon as he straightened up to be level with Garrett's face again, Garrett took the elf's head in his hands and brought their lips together.

Something about just being with Leto felt right, and in spite of his naked teenage awkwardness, Garrett had been compelled to lay one on his friend.

A chaste kiss, but Garrett's impulsive delivery of it brought a surprised blush to Leto's perfect cheeks. And when he released the elf, he couldn't help but laugh.

There'd still been foam on his upper lip, and it had been smeared onto Leto's, giving him a thick, white moustache. Garrett pointed to small mirror posted on the side of the half-wall, and Leto shifted to look.

And then they _both _laughed, but Garrett was probably the only one hoping to the Maker that all of it wasn't just a wonderful dream.

* * *

><p>Garrett was quite disappointed when he showed up to the room Danarius had designated for the costumer. He thought that Leto might have been there to assist him in choosing something to wear, but it didn't happen.<p>

That would have been the perfect opportunity to mess around with Leto – in more ways than just one. But now, he just dug through the racks of costumes with some thin, immactuately dressed man watching him in a way that honestly made him feel a little uncomfortable.

Scratch that – maybe finding a costume, while under an interested eye, wasn't the best time to engage in any sort of naughty behaviour with Leto.

Though, being alone and naked in a bath with him was _also_ the perfect chance to mess around, but nothing past that little peck – and maybe an eyeful on Leto's part – had happened.

Later, when Garrett sat in the bath soaking after Leto had excused himself to take care of, what Garrett assumed were Danarius' needs, all he could do was shake his head. There had been little more than flesh and terry cloth between them, and even with a raging hard on most of the time, the thought of ravaging Leto hadn't even crossed his mind.

Pathetic really.

One thing that had been on his mind the entire time was the idea of them fighting side by side. It had turned into an obssession, really, and it was all Garrett could think about, so when it came time to choose a costume, his thoughts had translated into the obvious choice; a very convincing old-style warrior ensemble. He was thrilled with everything on the costume – especially the fancy golden breastplate that was crafted cleverly to look like abdominal muscles – and the beautifully detailed greaves, but the bright red undertunic made it look like he was wearing a skirt. And the soft leather _subligaria_ for underwear was much more restricting and tighter than his smalls. He really wanted to wear pants, which he voiced, but the costumer dismissed it outright claiming that if he was going to dress for a costume party, he might as well _dress for a costume party._

Whatever _that_ meant.

He supposed he should have been thankful for the subligar. At least he didn't have to go without...

But a skirt? Best not to think about such things just in case he chickened out.

On the other hand, apart from his father and the people of the mansion, there was no one to even know who he was, so there wasn't really anything to be embarrassed about.

...And he _did_ have nice legs.

A hem, discovered by the flamboyant merchant, had come undone in the tunic, and it had to be repaired by the house tailor before it could be worn, so a servant – or slave, Garrett wasn't sure – came to pick it up and advised him it would be delivered before the party tomorrow night.

_Done deal, then._ Garrett supposed.

On the way back to his room, he passed by Danarius' study. Leto was inside with a cart and some fancy silver tableware.

Stroking his chin, smooth as a baby's bottom thanks to Leto's clever talent, he entered the room with quiet a greeting.

"I just got done with the costumer."

"Oh? And what did you choose to wear?"

"It's a surprise!" teased Garrett with a grin.

"Mmm? I can hardly wait." Leto volleyed sensually.

Garrett _almost_ wished he stopped doing that _thing_ with his voice. He had a hard enough time dealing with his spontaneous erections around the elf without the added difficulty. On the other hand, Garrett did enjoy it so...

Watching quietly as Leto worked, he decided to take a seat near where the elf stood arranging things on a small table by the window. As Leto removed the lid off a serving dish, Garrett recognized the item.

Without thinking, the word just rolled of his tongue. "_Zoetleanai!_"

Obviously surprised, Leto looked over at him. "That's right! And your pronunciation was very good, too!" he declared with a nod and a smile.

"Thanks!" Garrett replied brightly, Leto's compliment shooting straight to his enamoured heart. It also gave Garrett a sense of comfort; as if they were chatting any normal friends would. "What do those taste like? I officially regret opting out of dessert last night."

"Hmm. I don't know. I've never had any."

"What?" Garrett gaped. "But you cracked _dozens_ of them yesterday, and you didn't even try one?"

Leto just shook his head. "I've cracked _thousands_, but have never eaten one. Not ever."

"But why not?"

"They belong to the Master." Leto replied simply; as if it was completely natural. "He feeds us what is proper for us to eat as slaves, but we are forbidden to eat anything that he does."

Garrett huffed. It never failed. Everytime he even thought about that greying old man, bitterness crept onto his tongue. This time, though, he remembered Leto, naked as the day as he was born, _servicing_ the old pervert. And the more he fought the memory, the more his mouth twisted into a scowl until words practically spat themselves from his mouth. "Do you _always_ do what he says?"

Leto's face was a mask of indifference. He often saw that face when Leto was performing mundane tasks for Danarius. "I am a slave." he replied mechanically. "It is my duty to serve the Magister in any way he deems necessary."

Stalking to the table where Leto was preparing the spread, he grabbed a half opened shell and split it in two. "Then you should _definitely_ have one!" Pulling out the fruit inside, he offered it to Leto, who looked a little terrified.

"Garrett! If someone sees you...!"

"Then you'd better be quick!" He moved it farther toward Leto's face. "This is your chance. Take it."

Leto shook his head, but Garrett insisted. "He'll never know!"

The elf was reluctant at best, and so Garrett decided to go first; since he was the one to suggest the sample. Popping it in his mouth, he squished it between his teeth just enough to break the skin and press some juice out of it.

The look of euphoria on his face at the brilliant flavour had Leto intrigued, and Garrett confirmed aloud how tasty it was. "Maker, Leto. You've _got_ to try one!"

Leto glanced around the room nervously before he caved.

"Okay, fine, but just one piece."

Grinning, Garrett tongued his piece into his cheek. He wanted to savour it while Leto had his, so he resisted chewing it up. Even after a tiny bit of the juice, Garrett was looking forward to the full experience of the pricey fruit – and all of a sudden it didn't matter if it was that bastard's favourite too.

From that day forward, Master and slave will have shared the same experience, and that made Garrett feel a little smug.

Taking another shell in hand, he had problems prying it open, and snatched a little knife off a nearby tray. Wedging it inside the small existing crack, he worked at getting it open.

When he heard a small hitch of breath, he looked up just long enough to see the moment of fear on Leto's face, and the knife slipped, slicing into his fingertip.

"Ow, shit!" he cursed, dropping the knife noisily on the metal tray, the shell dropping hollowly on the floor and rolling under a lavishly upholstered seat.

Rounding the end of the table, Leto moved quickly. "Garrett!"

"It's okay. I just cut..." he trailed off when he saw Leto's look of horror as his head snapped towards the half open door. "Leto...?"

Snatching Garrett's arm, he drug the bigger boy along and behind a huge set of heavy velvet drapes. Ruffling the curtains around them, to conceal, Leto nudged the gathered up material to hide their feet. Finally, pressing Garrett against the wall, Leto tugged the curtain shut and shoved Garrett's bleeding fingertip into his mouth. Before Garrett could gasp at the hot wet around his finger, Leto fit his free hand over the blond's lips.

All was silent in the room for a moment before footsteps, accompanied by the jangle of expensive jewellery, echoed inside it.

Garrett's entire body screamed in silent protest as adrenaline coursed through him; heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears.

"Magister Danarius?"

It was Hadriana.

Leto raised his head slightly, looking down the long bridge of his nose, catching Garrett's attention with the movement; something for Garrett to focus on aside from the situation at hand.

Close quarters behind the curtain, Leto had pressed himself flat against Garrett's torso, and straddled a thick thigh to meld their bodies in order to keep the bump of their forms minimal as possible. Leto ran his tongue over the clean cut the tiny blade had made, and swallowed silently, sweet suction suddenly surrounding his finger. It _might _have been bearable if that had been the only movement Leto's clever tongue made around him, but he kept swiping it over and under the thick digit, almost in a nervous fashion; his huge, green irises shifting to the corners of his eyes as he listened.

She didn't say anything else, but there was no movement anymore to indicated where she might have even been standing.

Millimetres of crushed velvet was the only thing separating him and Leto from discovery and the dangerous gaze of a blood mage.

Unable to take in enough air through his nostrils to feed his pulse, he felt his face grow warm with panic. Finger still in his mouth, Leto noticed the signs of Garrett's anxiety and softened his features, his huge eyes back on Garrett's face' almost hypnotizing, allowing sanctuary in their depths.

Leto was unnaturally handsome; like all those possessing the beauty and grace of Elvhen blood, and it was very easy to concentrate on that fact while his body was pressed intimately against Garrett's. Their forms, joined at unsual places, hot and tense, began to make Garrett tingle all over.

And then, Hadriana's footsteps, along with the telling jingle of metal, could be heard vacating the room.

Once everything fell quiet again, something in Garrett snapped.

Wrenching Leto's hand from around his mouth, Garrett pulled his own from Leto's lips and clutched wildly at the boyish hips. Lifting Leto, probably off the ground, he wasn't sure, Garrett gasped a great breath before he captured those plump lips in a searing kiss. There was no tentative meeting of closed mouths, both boys' lips already parted in anticipation, or surprise.

Some sweet pulp lingered in his mouth, having had no time to chew it before he'd sliced his finger, and, remembering the original reason for the taste-test, Garrett pushed it past Leto's lips. A muffled sound of surprise at Garrett's gift escaped the near complete seal they'd created with their mouths. And, carefully avoiding Garrett's inelegant tongue, Leto bit into it, the warm, fruity juices flowing between them as they devoured one another, Leto thanking Garrett with sloppy, indulgent kisses.

Elven hands were knotted in Garrett's wild hair, and Garrett, oh so achingly hard, ground his length desperately against Leto's hip. Meeting the challenge, Leto rocked against Garrett's leg, his movements much more fluid than Garrett's frenzied motions.

Leto's eager willingness was intoxicating; the reciprocation of desire between them stole breath and inhibitions equally.

Servicing to fuel his lust, Garrett discovered that Leto was just as erect beneath his own breeches. Both cloth and the rigid flesh beneath it rubbed maddeningly between them; not nearly enough for Garrett who had been driven near mad with desire even in spite of his earlier release. Something had happened between them; something he could feel somewhere he'd never felt before.

He was confused about it, but he'd never been more certain about anything.

He wanted Leto. Without a doubt, now that he and Leto had a definite connection, he knew he'd no longer be able to be complete without him.

Hands squeezed Leto's flesh in a twitchy, brusing rhythm, hips working in their own crushing thrusts, until Garrett thrust his hand down the front of Leto's trousers, seeking the other's cock. He thought he heard Leto moan, and it spurred him on, the feeling of hard, silken flesh in his palm sinfully perfect.

Squirming against Garrett's herculean grip, Leto's little hiss of pain and shock tossed a bucket of cold water on Garrett's fervour.

And he realized Leto hadn't been moaning, but been telling him to stop instead.

Face blanched, Garrett's voice was a thin sound as he came to his senses and nearly dropped to his knees in repentance. "Maker. I'm sorry."

Moving his hands to cup the elf's head and bring the pale forehead to his lips, Leto pulled back from him.

He might as well have thrust a dagger into his chest for all the difference it would have made on his face. Breath didn't return to him, Leto's unsure motions sealing his throat off instead, the horror of what he'd done crushing him.

"I... I didn't mean to hold you so tight." he blurted out, the sentiment not at all appropriate, but all he could manage.

He'd been so unbelievably _horny_, and he let it get the best of him. But that's what Leto did to him; set not only his groin on fire, but also his heart. He had wanted to make Leto feel as good as he made Garrett feel, but he should have controlled himself; he _knew_ that Leto was abused by Danarius; he _knew _that Leto had to do things that debased him and embarrassed him.

Garrett's hands twitched; empty and useless. Not only had he failed, but he ended up hurting Leto when all he wanted to do was serve.

He _had_ to do better by Leto; he deserved no less.

_I am not Danarius..._

And then, seemingly in slow motion, Leto freed himself of Garrett's warmth completely and swept back the edge of the curtain.

"Wait!" Garrett choked after his lithe companion, unable to move, but secretly thanking the Maker that he at least had a voice.

Leto stopped and looked back, his face unreadable; blank, unemotional. It _scared _Garrett to see him like that. He wondered if he had crossed a line he could not uncross.

"I'm sorry. Please. Don't hate me."

Distant eyes regarded him, and Leto shook his head, almost sadly before turning away again.

But he didn't move forward.

"Meet me tonight." he returned solemnly, letting the curtain fall back, once again concealing Garrett and his shame.

* * *

><p>It would be a few hours before dinner, and even longer until he'd be alone with Leto again, and Garrett had no idea how to pass the time. He hoped that Leto wasn't angry with him for whatever it was that transpired between them in Danarius' study. He'd crossed the line, he knew, but if the thought about it anymore, he'd drive himself insane.<p>

Still, he couldn't deny that any time spent without Leto felt like a waste, and it always took too long to tick by. As his father liked to point out, he'd only known the elf for a short time, yet he couldn't even fathom what he did before they met. Before, he might have read a book or went for a walk outside in the fresh air to kill time, but his concentration waned when he attempted to do anything other than think about the other boy.

So he figured that he'd just sleep the time away in his chamber. Brilliant idea. He might even have another dream... but even _that _would be out of his control. Even if he had to change his smalls before dinner, it was an acceptable risk; one he was glad to take.

But the last thing Garrett expected was to when he opened the door to his apartment was his father fingering the expensive hem of Leto's cloak.

_Shit._

"Garrett." Malcolm remarked dryly. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

Garrett came completely into the room, turning around unnecessarily to shut the door behind him; breaking eye contact with his father in an attempt to keep his anxiety at bay.

"Um... What about?"

"About Leto."

The statement took the tall boy aback, not overly surprised at it surfacing, but still unsure of what he'd tell his old man.

"Uh... What about him?"

"What's going on between you two?"

It was time for 'the talk'.

Garrett had two choices, from what he could see.

He could lie and tell his father that Leto meant nothing, and that nothing was happening, like he had earlier.

If he could manage to be successful with his lie, that would mean getting away from the old man sooner, and on his way to the Fade much quicker. That plan was not without its potential for disaster however; if Garrett was not able to be convincing in the denial, and then was caught in the deception, it would take _twice_ as long to explain himself.

Bottom line was that he knew his father didn't like to be lied to and the conversation would probably not go smoothly.

_Or_ he could be truthful and tell his father that Leto meant – well, that Leto _did _mean something to him. That route guaranteed an explanation on his part and dispensed fatherly advice on his father's.

It would probably be advice or a lecture, though Garrett suspected the latter as he recalled his father's stance on slaves.

Finally, Garrett didn't relish it, but there was a third option.

He could turn and run the hell away, but avoidance wouldn't make things better, and only bring up _more_ uncomfortable questions.

And Garrett Hawke wasn't one to just run away, either.

Sooner or later; painfree or painfully; he was obviously due to hear his father's, no doubt overcooked, thoughts about the elephant in Garrett's room.

So he took the plunge. It was going to happen no matter what _he _wanted.

"I..." Garrett shuffled to the edge of the bed, not trusting his knees to keep him upright. "I ...like him."

This was relatively new territory when it came to the father and son. Garrett had never felt this way about anyone before, so he could only assume that the elder Hawke didn't know how to deal with his feelings either. Parents never knew how to deal with their teenagers. Wasn't that how it was supposed to go?

"Hmm. _Like_, huh?" Garrett heard his father's soft soled steps move across the floor, and the slight creak of an armchair being sat in. "So... How _intense_ is this like?"

If he wasn't so far in already, he would have seriously rethought this whole honesty thing. He wasn't quite sure if he even had the constitution to conduct such a conversation with the Hawke patriarch without succumbing to embarrassment.

"Intense." Garrett admitted simply.

"And at the market?"

"Sometimes I..." Garrett struggled. The taste of Leto's kisses still lingered on his tongue. "I just can't stay away from him."

"You've only known him a few days."

"I know!" he replied incredulously. That fact was not lost upon him, and he was confused and angry about it all at the same time. Taking a breath, he swallowed down the quickly rising defensiveness. "I know... but I've never felt this way before."

His father wasn't shy about not bothering to keep the peace in favour of calm conversation. "He's a slave, son"

This was not going at all how Garrett wanted it to go. Though, he wasn't sure what he expected. Dropping his head to his lap, he wondered what he was thinking in choosing to face things with his father; the words like a stab in his chest. "I know."

"And we're not in Fereldan."

Maybe it was because he was a father, but Malcolm always had a way of making things sound so _final _without even referring definitively to an end. It was pissing him off how simple his father's statements were and how _easy_ they came from his mouth, when, to Garrett, they were discussing something so terribly important.

He shook his head, as if the action could dispatch the glaring truth.

Somehow, in this place where time was less important than power, he'd almost forgot how far away from home they really were, and how incompatible life in the Imperium was to everywhere else.

Pressing his fisted hands into his thighs, he was barely aware that he spoke aloud. "I know." Almost as if the fact burned his tongue as he admitted it, he had to at least try and work around the sting. "But... I..."

After a long pause, his father sighed.

"Oh, Garrett."

Only the distinct lack of disconnected, cold fatherly tone prompted Garrett to look up; instead the unusual warm understanding in his father's voice made his heart ache more.

_Fuck._

It actually made Garrett want to cry.

He thought that his father would be angry and that Garrett may have an opportunity to be rebellious, not caring about the consequences; young and stupid as he had a right to be.

Compassion was making things _worse._

Taking a seat beside his son, knees touching, Malcolm began slowly.

"As a father... I know what I _should_ say to you, but I haven't forgotten what it's like to be in love."

Garrett's head snapped to look his father in the face, and _felt _it when his brow creased first in confusion, but then in realization.

He _felt_ it when his throat dried up; the exact second when there were no words with which to respond to the seemingly casual commentary from his father.

_Love?_

Could that four letter word really be why his heart fluttered like hummingbird wings whenever he was near Leto? He'd heard rumours about such conditions when one was 'falling' for someone else. Could such a thing be the cause of all of his protective feelings and wants and needs, not just physically, but the also the needs of his unfamiliar heart? Since arriving at the Magister's mansion, he felt like a completely different person.

But he'd seriously never considered that he _loved_ the other boy and that was what all the trouble had been about.

He'd been too busy being flustered whenever Leto was around that Garrett rarely ever thought about anything aside from the that or the stiffness between his legs in response to the older boy; physically present or not.

"You don't have to admit to your old man how you really feel. They weren't lying when they said that with age comes wisdom, y'know. But..." Malcolm inhaled deeply through his nose. Garrett recognized the action as a ritual accompanying the careful choice of words that would soon follow.

"Such feelings are... overwhelming at best, and it is easy to just forget about everything and everyone involved. If we were back in Lothering, and this had been someone you fancied, then I would expect to give you a talking to about the consequences of such powerful emotions and to tell you to be good to whomever trusted you with their feelings..."

Garrett's head fell back in his lap when Malcolm gently posted a hand up on his shoulder.

There was always a _but_ when it came to his father's wisdom.

"I have no doubt that you will make a fine partner to whomever you choose... but, _this..._" he gestured with his hand "cannot work between you two."

That was quite the _but_.

He surpised himself though, when he realized he had a _but _of his own. "But if it's 'love' then doesn't it _have _to work out somehow?" and as soon as it came out of his mouth, he realized how stupid it must have sounded.

There were plenty of things his father said that he didn't quite get, but he didn't want to even _begin _to venture down that road of despair. He couldn't think of a reason why things couldn't work out in his – and Leto's – favour.

He should have remembered that his father, ever the clever conversationalist, always had something to say, but he left Garrett's side to say it, gazing out the window at the tended lawns below.

"What will you do when you have to leave he – _him_ behind?"

Garrett squinted; it wasn't often his father misspoke, and the twisted pronoun near the end of that sentence prompted his thought process to grind to a halt.

"What?"

His father turned around just as a cool wash came over his features, all of the previous warmth gone as if it was never there. But there was no anger either; only a nostalgic look and a sober tone.

"What will you do when you have to leave him behind?"

* * *

><p>He didn't have an answer for his father.<p>

Garrett was unable to even _formulate_ anything to say.

And, perhaps out of compassion or simple frustration, Malcolm had just let it go.

The question stuck with him as blood under the fingernails.

What _was_ he going to do when it was time to go back to Fereldan? He'd managed to forge a bond with Leto, and it wasn't one he would let go of willingly. His father's revealing comment about love left him feeling different, yet again.

Lighter.

Happier?

_Indescribable_ if he was being honest; the queasy feelings in his stomach and fluttering heart in his chest added to that careening, out-of-control part of him that made him crave Leto's attention and affection.

He wondered if it would ever stop.

Somewhere inside he didn't want it to.

Dinner had come and gone without a hitch as it always did. The only thing that deviated was the number of people at the table.

Instead of just the three men with the elf servant, Hadriana and another older man, who was introduced as another Magister, also joined them for dinner. He managed to catch that the other aging man at the table was a good friend of Danarius' and he would also be attending the masquerade. It was really the first time the party was touched on in more detail, and, as it turned out, the majority of the Minrathian Magisters would be there along with many other important people from within the Imperium. It was very exclusive and was spoken about with decorative words chosen to be vague; a sort of 'inside' discussion. Garrett didn't really care about any of that – though he _did_ want Hadriana to choke on some of her food just so she'd stop talking.

It was the first night the harpy ate with them, and after the subversive conversation about the party, the chatter was, once again, restricted to all things magic.

Garrett had another opportunity to confess that he had no magical talent and that he was not versed in anything having to do with the world of mages, but further than that, he remained silent the whole event.

Consumed with thoughts of the events over the last five days, Garrett found himself feening for just a single touch from Leto's hand. But, as he expected, Leto kept up appearances and remained aloof. Garrett told himself not worry about the dark haired elf's cool countenance, and that he was just doing it because no one could find out about them – that part was slightly exciting – but the Fereldan boy had problems with his own reasoning.

Leto really hadn't given him any reason to believe one way or the other how the older boy felt, and it left Garrett feeling cold. He had doubts that if he were in Leto's position he could keep his feelings from getting in the way of things, and that only added to his unsureness. Was it easy for Leto to seem unattached because that's what he actually was?

_Unattached..._

After all they'd been through, could Leto truly not have developed any feelings for Garrett?

Because Garrett was _definitely_ attached; of that he was sure.

He thought he had things figured out, but all he knew at that moment was that not knowing for sure was a dark place to be.

Regardless, Leto wanted to meet, and that's exactly what Garrett had intentions of doing.

So, after a torturous heart-to-heart with his father and enduring a less-than-pleasant meal, he finally found himself sitting on the steps up to their special spot in the middle of the hidden meadow.

Leto hadn't given him a specific time to be there; that wasn't really the way things worked between them. Leto came when he could, Garrett assumed; when he was done doing whatever demeaning things Danarius had in store for him night after night. And, like every night, Garrett could almost watch the moon travel through the sky as it wore on.

Until he saw someone wade through the wild grasses to the gazebo.

"Orana?"

"Serah Hawke." she near gasped, and even in the night he could see her cheeks red from exertion. "I -I have been looking for you."

If she knew to come to their place, then Leto must be behind her arrival. He nearly panicked. "What is it?"

"Leto." she hesitated. "Your _presence_ has been requested, Serah."

She avoided his gaze as she spoke, which wasn't unusual for any of the servants of the household to do when they spoke to him, but for some reason he felt his gut twist a little. "Where is he?"

"Forgive me, Serah. I shall take you."

Garrett nodded; it was all he _could _do. Cloak in hand, he fell into step behind Orana as she lead the way from the glade.

All he could think about as they walked back to the mansion was his earlier encounter with Leto. He was most definitely angry when he left Garrett behind in the drawing room. Though, it didn't feel like anger was the only thing that caused Leto's departure.

And Leto's steps, usually steady and sure – never a single one wasted – were awkward and uncertain; stripped of their elegant air as he fled.

It was because of that that Garrett had been hoping against hope Leto would show up and didn't extend the invitation simply to placate him.

But surprise had been his visitor as the little elven girl showed up in his place.

They couldn't move fast enough, but once in the mansion, through an entrance Garrett was unfamiliar with, Orana had stopped and opened a heavy wooden door. A set of dark stairs descended; narrow in both step and passageway.

The slight girl avoided his eye again as she bowed.

"Please, Serah."

Something inside him told him not to go; to turn around and go back to the relative safety of his room. He had no idea what he'd find when he reached the bottom of the shadowy corridor, but if it would lead to Leto, then he'd go.

He'd journey anywhere if Leto was to be at the end of it.

Still, it didn't take long for Garrett's heart to jump; the air stale and damp as it curled in his nostrils.

Imagination kicking into overdrive, he imagined a dungeon with plenty of unpleasant implements and a sadistic Danarius wearing leather and spiked heels.

Wherever he got _that_ idea was beyond him, but the randomness of the thought actually made him question his choice of humour with a light-hearted shake of his head.

That was before Garrett arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

It caught his attention straight away.

Blue fire.

Hovering a palm over the flames burning in a sconce on the wall, they served to send a cool shock through his bloodstream.

_Sorcery._

A shift of light as Orana picked up a torch from the opposite sconce startled him, and he skittered back toward the stairs like a nervous horse.

"Apologies." she bowed.

Garrett smiled tightly.

Balling up his hands in the tight pockets of his trousers, he stopped them from trembling. The knowledge that Hadriana might have been involved didn't do anything for his nerves; unable to forget those blue flames had been in the hearth of Hadriana's parlour the first day they'd arrived.

Inadvertently recalling all the events he'd been party to involving Danarius' pupil – her sick brand of charisma, her cruelty to Leto, and her unfortunate timing one night – Garrett was worried.

What was he destined to witness?

He figured that he'd find out soon enough.

Orana moved down the corridor too slowly, passing door after sturdy door until they came to one that was slightly ajar. The wisp of a girl moved aside and motioned to the threshold with an open hand. It took Garrett a moment to place his palm against the cool, unfinished wooden panels and push it open.

Inside, it was poorly lit, but Garrett's vision had already begun to adjust.

He _did _wonder what all the rooms were used for underneath the manor, but he could only focus on the one he was in now. And even after Orana shuffled across his line of sight, he was almost afraid to look at the surroundings, not sure of what he'd find, so he kept a bead on her instead.

"Garrett Hawke." Purred a familiar voice. "How nice of you to come."

The sickeningly sweet drawl came from the direction in which Orana was travelling, and his eyes closed the rest of the distance on their own.

Hadriana was standing there, dressed in her usual gaudy robes and pounds of finery. The dainty sound of her bracelets tinkling as she extended her hand in welcome made Garrett's stomach twinge. Orana halted and turned, standing off to her side, but was partially hidden behind the mage's form, her head hung subserviently. Her posture was her apology, but she never looked up; just stood there, nose pointed at the ground.

"Thank you for _fetching_ our Fereldan guest, Orana."

Teeth grinding, the quiet sound of Orana's acknowledgment caused Garrett's temper to begin to smoulder uncomfortably in his belly.

"Why am I here?" he inquired impatiently.

The raven-haired woman clucked her tongue. "Really, little Hawke, you aren't much for manners, now are you?"

Garrett scowled.

"You are here because I _wanted_ you here. Isn't that enough?"

"I'm leaving." Garrett declared with – what he hoped was – convincing gusto. "I've had enough of your games -"

"Oh! Speaking of _games_..." she started, sounding inspired "Do you care to meet our other player before you decide to leave?"

"What are you -?"

Her blue eyes shifted, lids narrowing; the look daring Garrett to follow her gaze across the room.

There, bound to glinting metal rings on a dark wall on the far side, was Leto. His restraints, short leather straps around both wrists and ankles were pulled tight as he slumped lifelessly forward; the weight of his body pulling him away from the brick. He was shirtless, new wounds over the old on his chest oozing; random cuts and slashes of varying sizes drew Garrett's eyes down to the concentration of smeared dark red pooling and clotting down even into the split of his breeches.

Garrett couldn't hear the sound of his breathing, but saw his ribcage rise and fall slowly, gaunt skin stretched over his frame.

Unable to look away from the bloody mess, he nearly choked on Leto's name.

"Very good, little Hawke." Hadriana sneered.

"What have you done...?"

"It's nothing I haven't done before."

The sound of Hadriana's voice was a blade being drug through his mind; tugging across it until he bled as well. He couldn't be sure what horrors she'd given Leto before if her claims were true.

But...

He couldn't hide the concern in his voice even though he knew that he couldn't afford to sound weak in front of her. "Why is he not...?"

"Not moving?" she suggested with a shrug, making a show of stroking her fingernails with a thumb. "He passed out from the pain, _poor thing_. I _did_ get a little rough this time, I suppose."

"_Rough?_ Just what in the Void is going on here?" Garrett demanded, the fury that fuelled the question muted again by her mocking, icy tone.

"To be honest with you, little Hawke, I am the one sorely lacking in manners." Her malignant chatter held Garrett somewhere in between terror and rage; some middle ground where he couldn't run away or run toward. "I couldn't even wait for your arrival before I began the festivities."

He needed to get to Leto; needed to get him to safety. His state seemed poor, and it worried Garrett.

To say he was enraged would be an understatement. Did _Danarius_ know what Hadriana was up to with his favoured slave down in the deep recesses of his mansion?

Suddenly, he came to the realization that no one even knew where he was; short of the four of them in the dingy, moldy chamber.

The clap of her heels against the stone startled him as she took slow, methodical steps toward him; the sound drawing his gaze to helplessly witness her approach.

"Since Leto, here, has reached the end of his stamina for this game..." She sighed, sounding disappointed for a moment before she ran a pointed nail down Garrett's sturdy, human chest, to summon a shiver that brought a sick, satisfied curl to her lips.

Calculating eyes shifted toward him under thick, dark lashes, promising danger and whatever else; speaking more to him than her words ever could.

"What do you say we try a _new_ game?"

Garrett's breath caught under the heavy question.

"No."

Both Hadriana and Garrett looked toward quiet strangle of noise where Leto hung.

"No?" she laughed, a shrill, short sound, the echo bouncing off the walls. "Are you telling me that you think you have a _choice_ in this matter?"

He had his head up now, though he was still hanging painfully suspended by his arms from the wall. The healing bruises on his face seemed to look darker; his face white and unhealthy. There was blood crusted on his face, as Garrett suspected there would be. He didn't reply, but Garrett saw the line of his ashen lips tighten.

"Last time I checked, I do believe that _you_ were the slave and _I_ was the Mistress."

Again, Leto said nothing. Garrett wasn't sure if he couldn't manage to speak or if he was refraining from doing so.

He had to do something, or he might lose Leto... and for _what?_

"What do I have to do?" He asked quickly, ending any further discussion between the other two.

"Well -" she drawled "Danarius would not be _pleased_ with me if he were to lose his prized pup right before the big soiree, but the solution is simple."

"Simple?"

"Quite. All you have to do, my dear, is give me your blood."

"My blood... You mean for _blood magic_?"

"Of course."

"I do not _want_ that." Objected Leto with a stronger voice than Garrett would have expected from him considering the dire situation he was in.

"But slaves aren't suppose to _want_ anything, isn't that right, Leto? Besides, would you rather I use little Orana here?" Hadriana turned toward the skinny slave girl and put a hand on her chin, turning her face this way and that as she spoke. "She's peaked, to be sure, and is so delicate looking." She sighed loudly, pressing a fingertip against her lips in mock thought. "Would she even have enough blood in her to heal you before she, herself, expired?"

Panic drifted across the blonde's face, but she didn't move.

Leto said nothing more, but there was all sorts of silent conversation between them, reminding Garrett that he was an outsider in the truest sense of the word.

His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, but he couldn't do anything more than try and survey the situation as best he could. He was easily the tallest, sturdiest and healthiest man in the mansion, so, even though he wasn't sure what to expect, he knew he'd have an easier time than poor Orana.

While in thought, Hadriana had come closer to him, staring at him with wide, expectant eyes.

"There is _always_ a sacrifice." she purred "Wouldn't you want it to be yours? Don't you want _your_ blood to heal him; to be a part of him?" He could feel her freshly scented breath puff on his neck. "Don't you want to be _inside_ him?"

Her twisted words woke something deep in his gut – the same way Danarius' perversion did that first night they met – and he couldn't help himself from wanting whatever it was she was offering. He knew that Leto would be unhappy with any decision that was made, so he decided to take that on his own shoulders. If it had to be done, Garrett would do it. That's all anyone need know.

Any _other_ reasons Garrett could keep to himself.

So, with trembling hands, he began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He'd heard that blood mages drew blood from a sacrifice – or themselves in a pinch – in order to obtain blood to power their spells.

"Fine. Let's get it over with."

"No." Leto bit out, pulling futilely at the bonds; the quiet sound of the leather being strained too loud in Garrett's ear. "You can't... I can't let you..."

"Do not let the fleeting freedom our dear Master granted you allow you to forget your place, _slave_." Hadriana slunk toward Leto's body and cupped her hand to his cheek. "_Slaves_ gladly accept what their masters give them." She warned, dragging the tips of her fingers over his cheek, and down his throat, to bloom more bloody lines. Hadriana then slid a thin, sharp nail into the end of the wound and crooked her finger, causing Leto to cry out in pain.

Garrett took a hasty step forward. He didn't think there was anything that could stop him from wringing her skinny little neck, but she turned on him and held out an open palm.

Suddenly he couldn't move, though he could feel magic coursing through his bloodstream; hot and electric and foreign. It didn't _hurt_, but it felt like she was touching every part of him; violating him.

"So." she began again, eyeing Garrett coolly. "Will you give this slave what he _needs_?" Descending on Garrett again to place a hand against his chest, she circled around him, stalking like a panther.

It was most unsettling being paralysed by the very blood in his body. It was no wonder blood mages were feared if they all possessed such power. He had understood in theory, but now he understood in a whole new way.

"It also happens to be the _one_ thing he does not desire from you." she added lowly. "What will you do?"

Leto was staring at him, but Garrett couldn't do anything but stare back, utterly helpless.

His voice sounded detached and far away; unfamiliar to even himself. "Will I die?"

Hadriana barked a chortle that made both men start, and the thrum of the invading magic evaporated from his body, allowing him to move again. Though, he dare not make anymore moves toward her. He was trapped and she knew it.

"You Fereldans are a dense lot. It won't kill you... but" she grinned sadistically "I can assure you it will sting a little."

He swallowed, but hesitation didn't enter his mind once before he nodded resolutely.

He would save Leto from this ridiculous game of Hadriana's – he _wanted _to help – and if it caused him a bit of pain, so be it.

After voicing his decision, he looked back at Leto, but Leto was staring at the ground; refusing to return the glance. He needed confirmation that he was doing the right thing. He needed courage and reassurance he felt only Leto could grant him, knowing that what he was doing was all out of love and a crushing need to protect it.

He _needed _to connect, but the elf gave him no such satisfaction.

The glint of a dagger caught his eye as Hadriana offered it to him.

Once he held the sharp little dagger in his hand, moments felt like an eternity; as if he wasn't him and wasn't doing what he was doing. He wondered if he was crazy; maybe she'd bewitched him... or maybe he was in the Fade and a demon had somehow got a hold of him.

Or maybe he'd never wake up from this nightmare.

Anything, aside from this, he could accept, but the fact that he was about to slice himself open seemed completely insane.

Pushing the tip of the blade into the soft skin of his forearm, he bit back a hiss. Drawing the blade toward himself, he could feel the pain manifest on his face; the gathering of his eyebrows and the draw of his lips, but he watched the _reagent _well slowly on the surface.

That's what the blood was to blood mages; purely an ingredient. Alchemists had them, blacksmiths had them, enchanters had them. Even healers used flesh and plants to create potions to heal.

Now it was his turn to be a healer. He would _protect _Leto with his very life.

"Is that _really_ the best you can do?" Hadriana badgered. "I can't work with that."

Garrett looked up at the blood mage, swallowing tightly, the small wound he'd made already burning with promise.

He had to continue. It was for Leto.

He'd do anything for Leto.

"I didn't think you'd need any more _encouragement_." Orana shrieked, but didn't fight, when Hadriana snatched her bird-like arm and pressed a dagger against her neck. "Maybe a demonstration will help?

"No! I've... got it." he ground out from under the weight of his anxiety. He couldn't stop now; he'd come too far. There was too much at stake.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the dagger harder into his flesh; managing a straight incision in spite of his jittery muscles and quaking hands.

Blood – darker and thicker – hot and tacky, oozed from the gash as he insisted it go deeper. He felt the burning sting; every rational thought left in his head screaming.

When everything threatened to overwhelm him, he dropped the tainted dagger, and closed his eyes to focus on the sound of his own breathing. He was getting cold, his arm and hand numb as he bled out. He wondered how much blood was needed to save Leto, and what would happen after.

Would everything be the same with him after it was finished?

Would Leto hate him? He didn't think he could take that. It would be better to die than to live without the one he …

It was hard to focus.

And Garrett heard a chant – possibly an incantation – from Hadriana, but couldn't make out words; the manic drumbeat of his heart drowning out everything else as the fear began to take hold inside him.

Began to take hold in those places that couldn't be touched or bled...

Fighting against sleepy eyelids, he found he wasn't even standing anymore. The cold stone under his knees stole the rest of the warmth he had inside him; warmth he was trying to _save_.

For Leto.

For later...

Unable to understand exactly what he was looking at, and not able to look away, he faced the morbid, disgusting curiosity of his blood curling and dancing upon the dank air. It glowed crimson as Hadriana conducted it, in tendrils, away from him.

Garrett blinked wearily as he watched Hadriana's mouth move; her voice lethargic and low.

She thew her arms up in the air, hands gripping something invisible above her, and pain lanced through Garrett's entire body; seizing every nerve as the moment screamed past him, leaving him trying to clutch onto something he recognized; his senses trilling with sharp agony.

He could no longer fight the sea of cold he'd kept at bay, and let it swallow him whole.


End file.
